The Teenage Years
by BookWorm37
Summary: When Bobby's brother is killed in a car crash, he must take on the responsiblity of caring for his 15 yr old niece. Set Season Five. Rating for later, genre set for later chapters. BA COMPLETE Xover with SVU goes without saying
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well, updates will be pretty slow for this, but I'm writing it with pencil and paper first then typing later so it should be completed by the time I get back to more time for writing. Just have patience and remember that this is set in the middle of season five, probably right after Slither.

* * *

The shrill ringing of his barely used (read: why the hell was it still hooked up?) land line woke Detective Bobby Goren at precisely 4:07 A.M. He had finally succombed to the evasive sleep seven minutes earlier. 

"Goren?" he answered the phone after the second ring, burrying his face into his pillow as he listened to the unfamiliar voice on the other end say a few words that jolted him awake and caused him to sit up sharply.

"Please repeat that," he said calmly.

"Your brother, Frank Goren, was killed in a car crash a few hours ago, Mr. Goren," the man repeated.

"Where?" Bobby asked, feeling his heart race at the news. He wasn't yet sure if it was due to relief or shock.

"Las Vegas, sir. We need you to come and fill out the necessary forms for his body and the other arrangements that need to be made."

Bobby glanced at his clock and mentally calculated the likelihood of finding Eames awake. "I'll be there tomorrow," he finally said: it wouldn't be too hard to find an open flight to Vegas leaving in a few hours. "Tomorrow afternoon I'll stop by the station to fill out the forms."

After the rest of the necessary information was exchanged Bobby placed the phone back in its cradle and started packing, deciding to give Deakins and Eames a little more sleep before he called and woke them up.

"This better be good, Goren," he heard his partner grumble sleepily on the other end about half an hour later. Bobby was at a momentary loss about how she knew it was him before reasoning that he was probably the only one foolish enough to call at four-thirty in the morning on a Sunday.

"I just got a call that my brother died, Eames. I have to fly out tomorrow to sign everything."

Alex Eames knew the unsettled history between the two brothers better than most, and it was this knowledge that weighed heavily on her mind as she answered, "Where?"

"Las Vegas."

"What time tomorrow?"

His response was sheepish at best, "I haven't exactly gotten that far yet."

She sighed on the other end, "Did you call Deakins at least?"

"Right before I called you. He gave us the week off." Alex filed away the thought in her mind for future pondering, that Deakins had automatically assumed the two of them would take the time off together.

"Good. I'll call the airlines and get us a flight out. Are you packed yet?"

Bobby rolled his eyes but his voice didn't betray his exasperation, "Yes, Eames, I'm all packed. You really don't have to come with me."

A snort answered him, "Just keep tellin' yourself that, big guy. I'll see you in twenty."

He smiled when he heard teh click signaling that his petite partner had hung up on him: she sure was a pistol and he was glad she had opted to go with him on this specific trip. It was one he would have dreaded making alone.

* * *

The pair arrived in Las Vegas, Nevada at noon that day. As Bobby treated Alex to lunch in one of the many airport restaurants, he told her some of the happier memories he had of his brother, Frank. It wasn't until one-thirty that they made their way to the morgue to claim the body. 

After all the forms were signed at the morgue, the New York City detectives made their way to the police station for Bobby to sign the rest of the necessary paperwork. A junior officer met them at the door to the bullpen.

"Mr. Goren?" he asked, offering his hand to the older man, "I'm Officer Daniels - I spoke with you on the phone this morning."

Bobby looked at the young man's hand as if it were contagious with something before he finally nodded once and shook it with his own hand, "I know. Where are the papers I need to sign?"

Daniels nodded once, taking the man's behavior in as just another side-effect of living in Manhattan. He motioned to the back of the room, "Right this way."

"I thought his death was declared an accident," Alex questioned the rookie as the NYPD detectives were led through the unfamiliar squad room.

"Ah, not exactly. We got the tox screens back on both drivers and it looks like both had rather large amounts of alcohol in their systems at the time of the crash."

"Where's the other driver?" Alex questioned further as Bobby started reading and signing the necessary forms.

"She's at Mercy General being treated for a concussion and a few broken ribs. The third victim is also at Mercy General - she only sustained minor injuries."

Bobby looked up sharply, "Third victim?"

"The young woman in the car with your brother, Mr. Goren: Trishna Francise Goren? Your niece, sir."

Alex studied her partner with a worried expression as he processed the news. "He never told you?" she asked softly as she clearly read the shock in his eyes.

Bobby shook his head. Turning again to Daniels he asked, "How old is she?"

Daniels furrowed his brow, not exactly expecting this reaction. "Fifteen, Mr. Goren. It's all in his will, but apparently your brother left you sole custody in case he died before she turned eighteen."

"He never told me," Bobby repeated to Alex, the shock still blatantly evident on his features.

She nodded, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. The pair's actions and reactions were such that Officer Daniels had a very strong feeling that they were married ... or at least sleeping together.

* * *

The door stood in front of him; silently laughing and taunting him with the knowledge that he had only to reach out a hand, turn the doornob, push it open and walk a few feet into the room beyond to meet his niece. The door had seen too many men and women faced with similar tasks to feel sympathy for this one imparticular. The door knew the turmoil boiling beneath the surface of this man's skin and the terror that seized his body; the door knew, and still continued to silently mock his pain. 

Bobby thought the door was very evil to torment him like this. Of course, he had to admit, it wasn't the door itself that had caused his body to seize with terror. It was what was _on_ the door: Room 407 - the same number that adorned his mother's door at Carmel Ridge.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Alex leaned up and asked her troubled partner. She saw the determined glare he have the door and could only wonder at what nasty thoughts it was sending to his mind.

Silently he shook his head; her words giving him the strength he lacked to reach out his hand, push the door open and walk inside the hospital room to meet his niece.

* * *

A/N: So? What do you think so far? We meet his niece in the next chapter! Please review. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Don't expect updates to be this speedy in the future, like I said before, I don't have a lot of time to do this anymore. My nephew had a doctor's apointment on Monday and we learned that he has RSV which means he's rather cranky and wants a lot of holding all the time. Well, I hope you like Trish - I sure do.

* * *

When he saw the teen laying in the hospital bed, her left arm in a cast, he was hit with a clear picture of his mother on her wedding day. It had been his favorite picture as a child, and even now the black and white snap shot of Francise Smith becoming Francise Goren adorned a special place in Bobby's apartment. 

"Hi," she whispered meekly, her big brown eyes wide with pain and wonder.

"Hi," he replied in a gravelly voice that spoke of endless nights full of insomnia. He left the doorway to stand at the foot of her bed, "I'm your uncle, Bobby."

She nodded, "I know. You look a lot like my dad."

"You look a lot like your grandma," he replied with a sad smile. "Listen, Trishna -"

"Trish," she cut him off, "I go by Trish, Uncle Bobby."

He nodded again, "Okay, Trish, it looks like you're going to be coming back to New York with me."

"I know that, too." Her eyes were sad and full of tears as she whispered, "Dad always told me that you'd never forgive him, but you'd always help me if I needed it."

Bobby winced at the accusation in the words, his eyes darking back to the still open door in the hope that Eames would hear his silent plea and come rescue him like she did so often at work. She did hear his silent cry for help and walked in the room just like he needed. The smile that was present on her face was saddened in sympathy for the teen as she introduced herself.

"I'm Alex, you're uncle's partner at work," the older woman said by way of introduction. She turned to her partner with an unspoken request in her eye as she verbally said, "Can you go get me some coffee, Bobby? I didn't see any signs pointing to a caffiteria and you're better at sweet talking the nurses."

A slight blush graced his cheeks, making Trish think of a toy Nut Cracker she had seen in a Christmas display once with her father. Bobby nodded, "Sure, Eames. I'll make sure to add some coffee to your sugar, too." Bobby then turned to his niece, "I'll see when the doctors will release you, okay?"

Trish nodded, her voice uncaring in the slightest, "Sounds good."

Alex watched him go before turning to Trish and saying, "You'll like him once you get to know him."

"But will I like _you_ and the rest of his friends?" the young woman asked with a hint of malice in her voice, "I don't have a choice about going with him to New York."

The female detective sighed and sat in one of the chairs pulled up to Trish's bed, "I don't know if you'll like me," she responded truthfully. "But I hope that you will."

"We'll see," Trish responded. "Why don't you tell me about yourself and let me make up my mind?" she added as she adjusted herself so she was more comfortable on the rather uncomfortable bed.

"Okay," the older woman nodded, "But I'm going to have to ask you to do the same."

Trish shrugged, "Whatever." She was willing to talk about herself if it meant first getting a repreive from thinking about her dad.

"I'm the middle child of five," Alex started, "I have two younger brothers and an older brother and sister ... I entered the police academy when I was twenty-two; right before I married my high school sweetheart, Joe, who was also going to the academy. He was killed while responding to a bank robbery seven years ago." Her eyes contained a saddness Trish was becoming familiar with herself. It wasn't something, aparently, that she'd get over anytime soon, then. Alex snapped out of the revelry she had fallen into, looking at Trish with a hint of embarrassment in her eyes. She really didn't know why she'd mentioned Joe at all to this girl she'd just met.

"How long have you been Uncle Bobby's partner?" Trish asked, seeing the need for Alex to overcome her embarrassment and the mention of her husband.

"About five and a half years, now," Alex responded with a nod. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself, Trish? What do you do for fun?"

The teen shrugged again and Alex could tell it was her stalling mechanism - much like Bobby scratching his head. "I like to read, mostly. Mysteries, dramas and classics. Sometimes I like to go to the park and people-watch ... it helps me to think. When my mom died when I was ten, it was a bad time for my dad, so I spent most of my time at the park. She died of breast cancer, you know. It was so hard to watch her slip away like that - and watch my dad slip farther and farther away from me. Ever since she died it's just been my dad and me ... and his bookie. I don't really have friends at school - a lot of them think I'm weird because I keep on referencing books they've never even heard about, let alone read. They only talk to me when they need help with their classes."

Before Alex's heart could break any further for the young girl who was now an orphan, the door opened again and Bobby walked inside with Trish's doctor in tow. He handed his Eames a cup of coffee as the doctor checked Trish's vitals and chart.

"Well, young lady," the doctor said, "I can't really see any reason to keep you here any longer. Just remember to get those perscriptions filled when you get to New York, Mr. Goren. If you have any trouble make sure to see a doctor out there right away."

"Thank you," Trish said sincerely as she sat up and gingerly swung her thin legs to the side of the bed while the doctor made a hasty retreat to deal with other patients.

"I guess we should start getting everything in order, then," Bobby commented as he moved to take Alex's swiftly emptied cup of coffee.

"Uncle Bobby?" Trish asked as he turned to leave. He turned back with a question in his eyes before she added, "Can you check and see how the other driver's doing?"

He nodded, "I already did. The nurses told me she's going to make a full recovery."

The girl sighed in relief. "Good. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: You guys are so encouraging with your reviews! Thanks so much. Any ideas or requests, just review them in!

* * *

Two days. That's how long it took for all the arrangements to be made for Bobby and Alex to take Trish back to Manhattan with them. Two days of cleaning out Frank Goren's beat-up, old shack of a house and making sure Trish had the right kind of clothing for the biting New York winter. Two days of old "friends" sending Trish pitying glances and insinsere condolences. 

Trish could feel her world falling apart around her. Her father may have been a bad man, but that didn't negate the fact that he was her _father_. True, he often asked her to write up probability equations for his weekly trips to the OTB, but that didn't stop him from going to every school event that she'd ever been in, and helping her with science projects. He was her father ... and now he was dead.

As the plane took off from McCarran Internation Airport, on the way to JFK, Trish refused to let tears cloud her vision of the Las Vegas Strip as it disappeared from view. The Strip represented everything, and she hated it as much as her father had loved it. For representing everything.

The plane leveled off in the air before it passed over the bread basket of the United States. Trish leaned back in her stiff airplane seat, her eyes gazing listlessly out the window, unaware her uncle was watching her closely as her right hand started to stroke the cast that covered her left absentmindedly.

How was he supposed to take care of someone else? A teenage girl no less! What would happen if he had to work late? Or what if Nicole came back? How was he supposed to _protect_ her?

"You'll do great, Bobby," Alex whispered from her seat on his opposite side.

"How do you know?" he questioned back quietly. "There are so many things I could screw up."

"Because you're the same man who took care of his mother for twelve years by himself before joining the Army. You're the same man who came back from doing great things in the CID to take care of your mother again. You're the best profiler I know, and I've seen you with my nieces and nephews. You'll do great."

Bobby turned and locked eyes with his diminutive partner, "Thank you," he whispered, a slight smile on his face.

* * *

Lewis nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited by the baggage claim carrisol for Bobby, Detective Alex and someone he hadn't thought he'd ever meet: Frank's daughter, Trishna. After waiting for what felt like hours he finally spotted his tall friend in the ever-moving crowd, two petite women close at hand. 

It took a few more minutes, but finally Bobby, Alex and Trish were standing before Lewis (a.k.a. the nice man with the care to take them home in). As he had watched them walking toward him, the mechanic couldn't help but notice how much the three of them looked like a family returning from vactaion. Then he took in the cast on Trish's arm, and the listless look in her eyes and he amended the thought to a very _bad _vactation.

"So, you're Frank's little girl," Lewis said, studying Trish's features with a sad smile. "You look like your grandmother."

"I keep hearing that," Trish said, eying the man with suspicion. "Who are you?"

"Lewis Brooks," he said with a blush at the lapse of etiquette. "I grew up with your dad and uncle." He tossed a set of keys to Alex before moving to help Bobby get the bags from the evil looking metal machine that spun them around.

Trish seemed a little ... lost by all the happenings around her, to Alex's trained eye, and the female detective's intuition. She placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder, "Don't worry, Trish, we'll get to my house soon and you can rest."

"We're staying with you?" she asked curiously. "Why?"

Alex smirked slightly before responding, "Your uncle has a pretty small apartment and it wouldn't fit two people. I live in a townhouse with a lot more room. It'd just be easier until Bobby can find a bigger place."

Trish nodded, willing to accept that answer for the moment, although she suspected there was more to her uncle's relationship with this woman than purely "work partners".

* * *

"So, this is where you get to call home for the next few weeks, Trish," Alex said as she opened her front door and led Trish into the inviting living room. The chirp of a parakeet greeted the two women and Goren as they walked into the living room. Eames smiled at her bird, "Miss me, Polly?" 

The bird chirped in response with what appeared to be a nod. Before a comment could be made, there was a crash from the kitchen area followed by profuse swearing and the appearance of one Carolyn Barek. "Finally!" she cried as she gave Alex a quick hug. "Sorry about the mess in the kitchen: I let Mike make coffee yesterday."

"What'd he do to my kitchen?" Alex asked, sending a worried look at her kitchen. "He didn't break my coffee machine, did he?"

"I can't tell," Carolyn replied honestly, "That's one of the most complicated coffee machines I've ever seen."

"That's because it's an espresso machine imported from France," Bobby commented as he brought in the rest of the bags from the car. At Carolyn's look he replied, "I got it for her last year for her birthday."

Alex grinned at her friend, "And he's the only one that can actually use it."

Trish turned from where she was examining Polly, to look at Carolyn, who just stared right back. Bobby finally cleared his throat and introduced them, "Barek, this is my niece, Trish; Trish, this is Detective Carolyn Barek - she works with us."

Carolyn nodded once, "It's nice to meet you, Trish." She looked at her watch, "Well, I'd better be going, I promised Mike I'd check something for one of our cases today. See you guys later."

After Carolyn left, Alex cleared her throat and motioned to the stairs, "I'll show you your room, Trish." The teen just nodded, wordlessly as she picked up one of her bags and followed Alex up the stairs to see what the living conditions would be for the next few weeks.

While the two of them were getting Trish settled, Bobby was calling Deakins to inform him of the changes that would need to take place now that he was responsible for a minor.

* * *

"Do you know what school you're going to send her to?" Deakins asked. 

"I was thinking St. Cathrine's - it's only a few blocks away from Eames' house and that's where we're staying until I can find a bigger place," Bobby responded as he fiddled with the broken espresso machine.

"It's a good school. That's where my girls go. Just make sure that they don't think you're a lasped alter boy."

"Why's that?"

"It wouldn't be good. Just trust me on that one."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Goren?"

"Captain?"

"Find that 'bigger place' soon, okay? I don't want to have to explain to the brass why my two best detectives are living together."

* * *

A/N: Please don't forget to review with requests for what will happen - anything at all. Right now I'm trying to figure out what Bobby's going to pull out of his head for Trish's sixteenth birthday - something special and very sweet, but not too sappy, please. Cliche is okay.

Hey ... I think that's my new motto: Cliche is okay!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Okay, I decided to skip through their time at Alex's, but don't worry, we'll see plenty of Trish/Alex interaction in upcoming chapters. By this time Trish has been in New York about a week.

* * *

Trish looked out the window, staring at the street below. It was _so_ high up ... she wondered if she should tell Uncle Bobby that she had a fear of hights. The apartment was a good size: two bedrooms, a decent sized kitchen (in Manhattan terms, mind you), good sized bathroom, and a rather large common room that could be converted into a living room and dining room. Not to mention it was rather close to Alex's house and the school Trish was set to start the following Monday, had a doorman and aparently a good price tag that wouldn't break Uncle Bobby's budget.

"What do you think?" he asked as he walked into the room she had been examining. "Think it would work for the two of us?"

Trish nodded, "Yeah. It's nice." She turned to him, motioning with her uncasted arm, "I like that it's close to the school ... but isn't it a little far from your work?"

Bobby shrugged, "But it's close to Eames' house, so I can just catch a ride with her. It'd actually save her time since I won't be across town anymore." He motioned with her to walk closer to him and he wrapped his arms around her petite frame, drawing her into a friendly hug. "It's going to work out, Trish. You'll see."

The teen tried to hold back the tears, but over the last five days she'd come to genuinely love her uncle and trust him. It wasn't something she could explain - she wasn't really a trusting person ... but she found herself calming down when she was around him. He didn't scare her, and she could actually hold an intelligent conversation with him about her father or books. Life was something she saved for when she talked to Alex. The detective had been right: Trish liked her uncle, and she was growing to trust his partner as well.

"Listen," Bobby whispered after a few minutes, "I have to go down to the squadroom to finish some paperwork on a case, okay?" She nodded mutely, her own arms wrapped as securely as they could get around him, refusing to let him go. "Do you want to come with me?" he asked tentatively, unsure if that's what she really wanted.

Trish nodded, pulling back slightly. "How else will I know who to blame when you come home late?"

His chuckle was the only response she got as he signed the papers from the realitor and the two of them left to make their way to One Police Plaza.

* * *

Trish's eyes were wide as she tried to not look back at any of the staring faces. She wasn't sure if it was her they were staring at, her cast, or the giant of a man guiding her steps. Bobby led her to his desk and motioned for her to sit in Alex's (rather comfy) chair while he gathered together the papers he needed to finish filling out before going back to work on Monday. 

The teen tried to remain inconspicuous as she watched the rest of the squadroom pretend to not be watching her and her uncle. She couldn't find a friendly face in the bunch. That is, until she spotted Carolyn talking to a man she assumed to be the mysterious 'Mike'. When Carolyn saw Trish, she smiled warmly and waved, causing Mike to look sharply at whatever had caught his partner's attention. After a few quiet words were exchanged, the detectives ventured over to where Bobby and Trish sat.

"Hi, Trish," Carolyn said with a smile.

The teen smiled back tentatively, still a little unsure of her standing with these people, "Hi, Carolyn. How's your case going?"

The profiler shrugged, "We have a suspect at least." Her partner coughed, causing her to glare at him before saying, "Trish, this is my partner, Mike Logan. Logan, this is Trish."

Trish nodded to the older man, "I know who you are." She stood and fixed the knot on his tie before sitting back down, "You really should check that in a mirror before leaving the house, Detective."

Mike looked back down at his tie before sending a look at the teen, "How do you know who I am?"

"Carolyn mentioned three days ago that you had broken Alex's espresso machine. Then I asked Alex and she told me you were Carolyn's partner. After that it really wasn't that hard to figure out who you were, Mike," Trish's smile was a little patronizing as she informed the detective of her deductive reasoning skills.

"Damn, Goren, where do you find these people?" Mike asked the big detective.

Bobby looked up from where he was finishing his paperwork, his eyes wide, "Las Vegas."

Mike raised his eyebrows, "Vegas? She seems a bit young to be one for Vegas."

"Didn't you learn not to assume anything while at the police academy?" Trish asked him, wondering if she should find the situation humorous or annoying. "Las Vegas _does_ have a residential area, Detective."

"So you are ..." Mike trailed off, waiting for the blanks to be filled in.

"His_ niece_, dumbass," Trish said, rolling her eyes at him. "Some detective you are."

Mike just laughed at the statement before responding, "Now I'm assuming that what happened to your arm is why Goren found you."

"Uncle Bobby," Trish turned to her uncle with insencere wide eyes. When he looked back up at her she added, "You never told me you work with Sherlock Holmes."

Bobby furrowed his brow, deciding to play along, "I didn't? Hmm...it must have slipped my mind. Sorry, Trish. Have you met Sherlock, yet?"

"Oh, yes," Trish nodded, "He was just telling me how he was able to deduce that you found me for the same reason I'm wearing a cast."

"All right, you two, that's enough," Deakins said as he walked up to the pair of desks. He held out his hand to Trish, "I'm Captain Deakins, you must be Trish."

Trish smiled as she shook his hand, "I hear I get to go to school with your daughters, Captain."

He nodded, "Call me Jimmy. And, yes, you're in the same grade as my daughter, Jenny - she's about a year older than you."

"Interesting," Mike said softly.

"What is?" Carolyn asked her partner.

He motioned to Trish, "She's like a ... mini-Goren."

"I_ am_ a mini-Goren, Sherlock. Or do you just want to overlook the fact that he's my _uncle_?" There was just something about Mike that made Trish go on edge and become snarky. She wasn't sure what it was, but she was sure she'd find out soon enough.

Mike grinned, "Actually, I prefer to just forget that fact altogether, Trish. You see, I have a hard time picturing Goren with siblings."

"And you never will," Trish said, her face turning downcast and her eyes cold as she tried to surpress the tears.

"I'm done," Bobby said, handing a stack of paperwork to Deakins, "These are for the Henderson case. Trish, let's go."

"It was nice meeting you, Captain," she said as she followed her uncle to the elevator and back to Alex's house.

"Wow," Mike said after the elevator door had closed again, "I never could have imagined Goren as an uncle."

"Oh, shut up, Mike!" Carolyn said before turning to walk back to her desk and finish her own paperwork.

"Captain," Logan asked quietly, "Why_ is_ Trish here?"

Deakins grew pensive as he tried to come up with a way to phrase the issue without revealing too much. "You weren't wrong, Mike," he finally said, "Bobby's all the family she has left."

It didn't take the detective too long to figure out what that meant.

* * *

A/N: Don't ask why Trish and Logan aren't getting along - I just decided that they aren't. That's the way it is ... but it may change. I'd really appreciate it if everyone who has this story on alert would drop me a review just to let me know that you didn't click the box on accident. 


	5. Chapter 5

"How was your first week?" Alex asked as she helped Trish assemble her bedframe.

The girl shrugged, trying to figure out how to do the task at hand with a cast on one of her arms. "Okay, I guess. I had to take placement tests before I started, so all my classes are a lot higher than a few kids think they should be. Damn it!" she swore as the bolt slipped from her fingers for a third time.

Alex didn't respond to the outburst, knowing from her time with Bobby that it was just better not to bring attention to the problem. "Are you having problems with the other kids?"

Trish looked up with a smirk, "Depends on what qualifies as a problem. Jenny Deakins is in my English and Pschychology classes, and she's pretty good at making sure no one in those classes bothers me ... but there's this boy in one of my classes named Bill." She shook her head as she tightened the last screw that needed to be in place before they could put the matress onto the bed. "He seems to have this strange idea that he's God's gift to women - specifically, me."

"So he asked you out ..." the older woman prodded as the pair started making the full sized bed with the newly laundered sheets.

Trish nodded, tucking the flat sheet into the corner she was at, "Yep, he asked me out; and when I said no he decided it would be a good idea to spread a rumor around the school that I'm a lesbian."

Alex raised her eyebrows in surprise, "And? What'd you do?"

Trish gave Alex a look that reminded the detective of many times Bobby had looked just like that before producing the last nail for a suspect's coffin. "We're doing monologues next week in Drama. I was going to do one I wrote about my dad, but I think now I'm going to do one about ..." she looked pensive as if trying to come up with the best way to phrase her idea, "The need for men who are unsecure in their masculinity to pretend to be Don Juan." Trish's smile resembled a imp, "The monologues are going to be performed in front of the entire campus."

"That sounds a bit extreme," Alex finally responded as they tossed the pillows over the recently added comforter.

"No it's not," the younger girl said as they walked back to the living room to see how Bobby and Lewis were doing with the boxes in there, "It's a perfectly reasonable preemtive strike against future attacks on my reputation."

"What is?" Bobby asked as he turned from the now fully stocked book shelves.

"Me reciting a monologue on Alexander the Great to counteract a rumor a guy started at school that I'm a lesbian," Trish explained. Bobby just nodded (it really did make perfect sense if you thought about it).

Lewis was about to say something but the buzz of the intercom system cut him off. "Yeah?" Bobby asked after pressing the button.

"Pizza delivery for Goren," an unfamiliar male voice said on the other end.

"Come on up," Bobby replied, buzzing the man into the building.

As the four of them started eating the piping hot pizza, Trish turned to Lewis, "You left off in the middle of telling me the story about how my dad almost blew up the tree in the back yard when he was fourteen."

Lewis grinned at the teen, he had grown to enjoy her company - not to mention the fact that she actually listened to his stories, "Well, what time was I telling you about? It happened twice that summer."

"Oh, God," Bobby said, hanging his head in embarrassment as he remembered the 'forgotten' second incident. His embarrassment was only increased as Lewis went on to tell Trish and Alex about both times (the second being the time when Frank and Bobby had almost started a fire by driving Lewis' dad's motorcycle into the tree).

* * *

"What's the matter, Goren? You look tired as hell," Logan said as took a seat on Bobby's desk a few minutes after the other detective arrived later than usual. 

Bobby glared up at the older man, "Really, Mike? And here I thought that getting only one hour of sleep during a week would make you look like Richard Dean Anderson."

"Who?" Mike asked, furrowing his brow.

"RDA," Alex responded without looking up from her paperwork, "The guy who played McGyver."

"Oh, yeah," Mike replied, still oblivious to who the hell that was. "So, how's your niece settling in?"

Bobby smiled slightly as he thought about how she fixed her situation at school, "She's ... as well as can be expected, Logan. Still gets nightmares but since she has school to keep her mind occupied, she seems to be getting a little better."

"Isn't her birthday next week?" Alex asked, looking up with a slight frown.

Bobby nodded, "February 11th. It's her sixteenth." He sighed and shook his head, "I have _no_ idea what I'm going to do about it."

Alex snorted, "Didn't you ask her what she wanted?"

"She told me she wanted cake. How the hell is that supposed to help me?" Bobby complained to his partner and co-worker.

"Get her a cake shaped like an elephant from a specialty shop," Alex told him, "It's her favorite animal. She's like you, Bobby - she doesn't want a big fuss; just something she'll remember."

The words gave Bobby an idea for something to do with his niece for her birthday. It was something that would hopefully knock her socks off and give her the perfect Sweet Sixteen every girl dreams about.

* * *

"Uncle Bobby?" Trish asked as they watched the news that night. 

"Hmm?" he asked, glancing at the teen to see what she wanted to know.

"What's your middle name? Lewis would only tell me that it starts with an 'O'."

Bobby looked at her sharply, unsure what brought on this particular (read: very embarrassing) question. "Why?"

She shrugged, "Just curious, I guess." Her eyes narrowed at him, "It's not Obadiah, is it?"

"No," he whispered with a shake of his head, "It's not Obadiah."

"Tell me," she said, bouncing a little in that manner pecular to women who are trying to wheedle information out of someone who doesn't want to give it.

He shook his head, his eyes firmly closed, "It's not one of the nicer facts about me."

"Oh, come on!"

"Fine!" He paused for a moment and looked at her with clear eyes, "I'll tell you on your birthday if you can't guess it before then."

Trish looked at him like he'd just told her that they would never have cake ever again, "But that's still a whole week away!" When she could see that he wasn't going to budge from his position, she humphed and sat back, "Meany!"

* * *

A/N: Okay, only me and one other person on this site know what I chose to be Bobby's middle name. I'd like the rest of you to guess (in reviews of course). And any/all ideas for Trish's birthday are welcome. 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Just so you know, I decided that in this story, Elliot and Kathy never seperated; they went to counciling and worked everything out.

* * *

"Hey, Goren!" Trish heard a voice call out from behind her. She turned and found a girl she knew was a Junior jogging toward her. Well, as much one could jog in a school uniform that included a skirt you didn't want flying in the winter wind. 

"Kathleen, right?" Trish asked as the blonde girl came to a stop in front of her.

The older girl smiled, "Yeah, that's right. You're in my English Lit class."

"I remember," Trish said, motioning toward her locker, "Walk with me, I have to get something out of my locker." The two girls started walking together for a while in silence before Trish asked, "What's up?"

"Well, you know how we're writing that paper about _The Count of Monte Cristo_?" Kathleen asked, her embarrassment at having to ask for help was evident.

"You're having trouble with it?" Trish asked, effectively blocking everyone's view of the lock on her locker as she turned it to the correct combination by feel (a trick her father had taught her). She opened her locker, revealing two photos taped to the door; textbooks and a vast collection of novels and non-fiction books.

Kathleen did a double take of the younger girl's locker: Look at all those books! She had decided to ask her for help with the paper after hearing her monologue on Alexander the Great, effectively ending all rumors about her sexuality. "Yeah."

Her attention turned to the pictures on the door: one was obviously a young Trish and a couple who looked like her parents ... but the other one was of two people Kathleen had seen before somewhere. Her brow furrowed but before she could ask her question, Trish's eyes followed her gaze and the younger girl said, "That's my Uncle Bobby and his partner, Alex."

Trish's finger trailed over the edge of the snapshot she had taken of her uncle and Alex, during the week when Trish and Bobby were staying at Alex's, while they argued about some unknown thing to do with who was supposed to do the dishes. The teen was still pretty sure that neither of them had even heard the click of the camera or saw the flash as she had taken the picture.

"Detectives Bobby Goren and Alex Eames?" Kathleen asked, raising her eyebrows. Trish nodded and the older girl continued, "Wow. So do you think you can help me?"

"I don't see why not," Trish said. "When did you want help?"

"Are you free tonight?" Kathleen asked, hopeful that she could get her father to stop bugging her about her paper.

"I think so," Trish said, "But I'll need to check with my uncle to make sure." Since it was the lunch hour, Trish pulled out her cell phone and called Bobby's own cell to check in.

"Hello?" he said on the other end.

"Hi, Uncle Bobby. I'm going to be late tonight, okay?"

"Okay, where are you going?"

"I'm going over to Kathleen's house to help her on a paper for English Lit."

"Last name, Trish?"

"Stabler, I think," Trish looked over to Kathleen, who nodded an affermative. "Yep."

"I want you to call me when you need a ride, okay?"

Trish rolled her eyes, "Yes, sir. Are you sure I shouldn't just call Alex?"

"If my phone's off," he replied, a twinkle in his eyes that Trish couldn't see, but Alex clearly could.

"Okay. See you tonight."

"Bye."

Trish hung up the phone and turned back to Kathleen, "Tonight's fine."

"Can I use your phone to call my mom and let her know?" the older girl asked. Trish nodded and a few minutes later the recently purchased cell phone was back in Trish's pocket and they were off in different directions to eat lunch, plans having been made to meet at Trish's locker after school.

* * *

"Liv, you almost ready?" Elliot asked his partner as they packed up for the rare night with no open cases closed to being solved or with any leads. 

"Almost, El. I just have to finish this one stack of papers then we can go."

"What about you, Fin? Munch?"

"Done!" Munch said gleefully, "The paperwork conspiracy isn't good enough to keep me here one minute longer."

"Almost, Elliot," Fin said, holding up a finger to punctuate his statement. "Done."

"I'm done, too," Olivia said, grabing her coat. Soon the four of them left for their monthly dinner at the Stabler residence - a tradition that had been started right after Fin had been transfered from Narcotics by Kathy who wanted to make sure that the other three detectives had at least one good, home cooked meal in their systems on a regular basis.

* * *

"And you end it by reitterating what you wrote in the first paragraph," Trish was explaining to Kathleen as the older girl typed up the report on her chosen character from _The Count of Monte Cristo_: Valentine. 

Kathleen nodded and wrote a few more sentences to close the paper before saving it and pressing the button to print it out. She smiled at the younger teen, "Thanks, Trish, I thought for sure I wasn't going to get this done."

Trish shrugged, "No problem, Kathleen. You just needed a little motivation, that's all. Now, really, was it as hard as you thought it was going to be?"

"Not at all." The sixteen-year-old looked pensive for a moment before adding, "Actually, I almost enjoyed that."

"See? I told you writing could be fun," Kathy told her daughter as she walked into the living room. She checked her watch before asking, "Trish, are you staying for dinner?"

Trish's eyes went wide, "I don't want to intrude, Mrs. Stabler."

"No intrution at all," Kathy said with a smile and a shake of her head, "Actually, my husband's bringing a few of his co-workers home, so it might be good for Kathleen to have someone else to keep her occupied - Maureen, too."

After a minute of debate with herself, Trish finally nodded, "Okay. That'd be nice. Thank you, Mrs. Stabler."

"You know, Trish, you_ can_ call me Kathy," the older woman said with a smile as she went to go set the table. With her two youngest over at friends' houses for the evening, she only had to set it for seven instead of nine.

"Trish?" Kathleen asked softly, turning the girl's attention back to her associate from school. "That other picture on your locker? With you ..."

"My parents," she said, her eyes sad as she thought of when that picture had been taken. "That was the last Christmas we had together."

"What happened?" Kathleen asked, unable to really contemplate the idea of living without either one of her parents.

"Breast cancer. They didn't catch it until it was already Stage Three ... Mom didn't make it to my birthday." Her eyes were moist, and it awed Kathleen that Trish refused to let those tears fall.

"And your dad?" she asked quietly.

Trish held up her casted wrist, with an ironic smile, "Car crash, three weeks ago."

Before the conversation could continue, the sound of a key scrapping in the lock was heard, followed soon by the door opening and the four detectives from the Special Victims Unit traumping into the living room, smiling and laughing in good humor at some unknown joke.

* * *

A/N: Please review. I have a very good idea for Trish's sixteenth birthday: I was listening to my MP3 player and a song by Judy Garland came on that gave me an awsome (and very Bobby) idea. 


	7. Chapter 7

For the most part, dinner reminded Maureen and Kathleen of an interrogation: one on one. Throughout the entire meal (beef stew full of all these viatmens and herbs that you only hear about in the abstract) Elliot tried to get Trish to open up about herself, with a little prodding from Olivia, while Fin and Munch just watched the teen sidestep nearly all of Elliot's more invasive questions gracefully.

"Trish? Short for Trisha?" Elliot asked the teen about halfway through the meal.

"Trish_na_, actually," she responded, filling her spoon with broth.

"That Hindi?" Fin asked with a furrowed brow.

Trish nodded, "In the original Sanskrit it means thirst or desire. My mom always had a ... _thing_ for exotic names."

Fin snorted, "At least they didn't go so far as what my dad did: Odafin."

Trish grinned at him, "Actually, my mom won that argument: Dad wanted to name me Akanksha."

At that revealation, the four detectives were stunned silent, but Maureen found enough of her voice to say, "Wow."

"So what's your full name, Trish?" Elliot asked, getting back to the topic he had wanted to discuss in the first place.

"Is that the polite way of trying to find out if I have any relatives who've served time, Detective Stabler?" Trish asked with a slight smirk and a twinkle in her eye. Elliot had the decency to look a little chagrined at the statement. To tell the truth, he was a little miffed that a fifteen-year-old was able to call him out like that. "I'll be sixteen next week, Mr. Stabler, don't feel too bad about it."

"Are you gonna cut through the middle ground and fill us in?" Munch asked, sitting back in his chair.

"My uncle's prints are in the system, but to the best of my knowledge that's not because he was ever arrested. And I don't think my grandmother was leading a double life when my dad and uncle were growing up, so I think you're safe." Trish looked pensive after she said this, and after a minute she nodded, "Yeah, I think that's it. Just don't piss off my uncle."

"And what's your uncle's name?" Elliot asked, enjoying the challenge learning information from this girl.

Trish grinned, still full in the mode of toying with him, "Bobby."

"So you expect me to look through the New York database for a guy who hasn't been arrested named Bobby. No last name?"

"Oh, you wanted my last name?" Trish said, her eyes wide in mock innocence. "You really should learn to be more specific about these things." She picked her spoon back up and started eating again, purposefully ignoring Elliot's question.

Kathy smiled at the incredulous look her husband sent to the teen. He really had to learn to be careful around teenage girls. The other three detectives, she could tell, were also silently laughing at Elliot for having a teenager run circles around him so effectively. When would he ever learn.

"Your last name, Trish? What is it?" Elliot finally said after a few more minutes of suffering the silent laughter of everyone else at the table - his teenage daughters included.

"Hm?" Trish said, swallowing what was in her mouth before she said, "Oh. My last name's Goren."

Fin swallowed his water through the wrong pipe and ended up coughing after Trish's announcement for a good two minutes. She looked at him worriedly, "You really should be more careful about that."

He looked at her oddly, "I didn't know Bobby Goren has a brother."

Trish's eyes grew sad, "Had. He _had_ a brother."

Fin and Elliot grew quiet as Trish and the rest of the women continued to eat in silence. Elliot opened his mouth to say something, but Trish cut him off, "Kathy? What herbs did you use in this? I can taste cilantro, parsley, nutmeg, cumin and a hint of oragino and a bay leaf, but there's something else?"

Kathy's eyes went a little wide, "You have a good tongue. Sage is the only other spice I used beside salt and pepper."

Trish nodded her aprovement, "Excellent work."

John Munch sniffed a spoonful of his own stew before turning awestruck eyes to Trish, "How did you do that?"

She opened her mouth to reply but Fin beat her to it. He slapped his partner on the arm and reminded him, "Don't you remember that Goren can tell exactly what the last meal of a vic is by their breath? It's his _niece_, of course she can pick out the damn spices."

"Actually, my mom was a chef and taught me how to taste a meal at the base ingredients," Trish explained, rubbing her now sore casted wrist. _Damn it_, she thought to herself, _I left my pain meds at home_.

Soon the meal was complete and Trish helped Maureen and Kathleen put the dishes in the dishwasher. "Thanks again for the help on my paper," Kathleen said, "I'm sorry my dad's such an ass."

Trish shrugged, "It's not your fault. And for the record, he's a cop - he's supposed to be nosy." She motioned toward the wall posted telephone, "I need to call for a ride."

"No problem," Kathleen said with a nod before leaving the room.

Maureen turned to Trish as her younger sister left, "So that's how you got your cast? When your dad died?"

Trish nodded with a slight smile, "You're good at picking up on things. It was a car crash, about a month ago."

Maureen sighed with a sad smile, "Sorry. I don't know what I'd do without my dad ... even if he is a little too nosy sometimes."

"I hope you never have to find out," Trish replied, the memory of her father still bittersweet in her mind and heart.

* * *

The doorbell rang, causing Munch to get up and answer it because he was closest to the door. When he saw who it was, he let out a laugh as he said, "Mike!" 

Mike Logan looked at John Munch in surprise. They had worked a short stint together in the 2-7. "John. Great to see you, man."

"What are you going here, Mike?" John asked as he ushered him into the house.

"I'm actually here to pick up Trish. Goren and Eames are apparently on a role with their latest case," he said as they walked into the living room. Trish had her back pack in her right hand, her left now gingerly carried close to her chest. "You ready to go?"

Trish nodded, "Thanks for dinner, Kathy. It really was very good."

"Any time, Trish," Kathy said with a smile. "I'm actually still a bit shocked that you got Kathleen to finish that paper so soon."

Elliot, who had just taken a sip of a beer, spit it out. "What? Kathleen finished her English paper? I thought it wasn't due until next week."

"Dad!" Kathleen protested indignantly.

"She just needed a little help getting started," Trish told the detective coolly. Turning back to Mike she said, "Shall we go?"

Mike raised his eyebrows, "I think we shall."

Kathleen launched herself at Trish and gave the younger girl a fierce hug, "Thanks again for the help."

"Don't mention it," Trish said with a smile. "Thanks for listening."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: For those of you who wanted Trish and Mike to get along.

* * *

The fourty-five minute ride back to Bobby and Trish's Brooklyn appartment was silent until they hit the Tunnel. 

"Where's Uncle Bobby and Alex?" Trish asked with a sigh as the car continued at a crawl behind the long line of others trying to get out of Queens.

Mike glanced at her, surprised she was willingly starting a conversation with him after what had happened two weeks before (the first and only time they had spoken). "They're interviewing a suspect. It can't wait until tomorrow. Bobby told me to tell you not to expect him home unil late tonight."

She nodded, clasping her hands together: she needed conversation. Well ... truth be told, she would settle for anything about then to keep her mind off the growing pain radiating from where her wrist had been broken when it had hit the dashboard awkwardly in the crash. "Listen ... Logan ... I'm really sorry about how I acted the other day. It was a bad day for me."

"Call me Mike," the detective said, touched that the girl was apologizing. "And don't worry about it. I didn't know that you had just lost your dad."

Trish shook her head, "That wasn't what it was." Her eyes flickered to the older man driving her home. She wondered what Bobby had had to promise him in exchange for taking the time to get her from Queens. "It was the anniversary of when my mom died five years ago. Uncle Bobby tried to keep my mind off it ... but it just kept on hitting me like a ton of bricks."

To her surprise, Mike didn't respond with the usual half-hearted words of apology. His right hand reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently before returning to the wheel. As they reached the end of the Tunnel, he finally said, "My dad died in a plane crash when I was seven. I still stay home on the anniversary of his death."

"You know, it wasn't even like he was a good father," Trish opened up to the man. "After Mom died, I mean. He was almost always either high on cocain or drunk out of his mind. And whatever money didn't go for those went for his gambling addiction. I had to get a full time job on top of school so that we wouldn't fall behind in the bills." Tears fell, unbidden and unnoticed down Trish's face. "But he never once hurt me either physically or emotionally. He loved me ... and he tried to do what was right for me. Half the time I'd sleep in an empty house because he wouldn't want to come home drunk or looking like shit.

"He tried to be there for me ... And that's what makes it worse."

"What happened?" Mike asked, speeding up with the traffic as he made his way into Brooklyn.

"We were coming back from my gynecologist's office. I found the lump at the beginning of January and took a cab to the hospital." She shook her head as she took a shakey breath, "They did a biopsy and that day ... he died, we'd just come from finding out the results of that biopsy."

"And?" Mike prodded, pulling onto Bobby and Trish's street.

Trish gave him a look, as if she thought he was accusing her of not telling her uncle about all this, "It's benign, Mike. Perfectly harmless."

He parked the car and unbuckled, "Want some company until Bobby gets home?"

Trish nodded, wordlessly. Company ... she wouldn't be sitting in another empty house; awake, lonely and worried out of her mind until the wee small hours brought a different Goren brother home.

* * *

Bobby tried to be quiet as he opened the door to the apartment, logically thinking that Trish should be asleep and wouldn't be up for another few hours still. The detective seriously doubted he'd be getting any sleep after the night he'd just had: Sure, they got another confessiong to add to the list, but ... they got another confession and it would take some time for him to retreat from the mind of the perpitrator. 

What Bobby Goren wasn't expecting, however, was to find Mike Logan fast asleep on his sofa, a blanket thrown over him and the television on some infomertial about weight loss pills. He turned off the television seconds before Trish came out of her room, her eyes red and puffy from her tears.

She smiled slightly, "Hi."

Bobby motioned toward the couch and she shrugged, "He was tired and I wanted some company."

He moved over to hug his niece, letting her rest her head on his broad chest. "How are you doing, Trish?"

"Okay, I guess," she mumbled into his shirt, reveling in the feel and smell of her uncle as it surrounded her. It may have sounded strange, but she took comfort in that ... the hug of the one man she had left. "School's kinda boring. I was thinking that maybe I could take the GED in the spring?"

Bobby rubbed her back lightly and placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head, "We'll talk about that in the morning."

"It is morning," she muttered back.

He sighed and pulled back slightly so he could look into her face, "Is that what you want to do?"

Trish nodded, "Yes. It is."

"Then we'll descuss the specifics on Sunday."

Trish nodded, "Okay. Try not to wake up Mike, Uncle Bobby. He just went to sleep a couple hours ago."

Bobby nodded silently, motioning for Trish to go back into her room and try to get a little sleep before the sun came up and another day started.

* * *

The first thing Mike noticed when he woke up was that he was on the couch, the second was that he didn't have a hangover. Of course, this was rather confusing to him (considering he only slept on a couch when he was too drunk to make it to the bed), but it was soon explained when his mind registered the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of the shower running. It was then that he remembered he had crashed on Goren's couch after driving Trish home and keeping her company for a few hours while they waited for Bobby to get back from work. 

"Morning, sleepy head," Bobby said cheerfully as Mike walked slowly into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

"How the hell are you so chipper?" Mike asked him. "You couldn't have gotten more than a few hours sleep last night."

"True, true," Bobby replied, dishing out the eggs he had just made into three plates, "But I didn't sleep on that couch. Thanks for staying with Trish last night."

"No problem," Mike replied truthfully. "It was actually kinda nice to talk to her. She's a lot nicer once she's had her pain medication."

"I heard that," the teen said as she walked into the kitchen, her hair still wet, clothed in her school uniform (minus the shoes, which she wore as little as possible) and ready for the day. "Angie's picking me up for school in half an hour, Uncle Bobby."

"Who's Angie?" Mike asked as he went to sit at the dining room table with his breakfast.

"Captain Deakins' wife," Trish explained as the intercom buzzed. "And that would be Carolyn with a clean suit and tie for you, Mike."

Mike looked at her oddly, "You had Barek get me a suit from my apartment?"

Trish cocked her head at him, her eyes wide, "Would you rather having to go into work wearing the same thing as yesterday? That would certainly give fodder to the rumor mill."

As Mike got dressed Trish and Bobby did the same thing they'd been doing in the morning for the past few days: Trish tried to guess his middle name.

"Orville?"

"No, I'm not named after Orville Redinbocker."

"Orpheus?"

"As in the Greek god of music? Nope."

"Othello?"

"Mom never liked Shakespeare."

"Obidiah?"

"Your grandma wasn't _that_ wrapped up in the Bible when I was born."

Trish sighed, frustrated but before she could voice her next guess, however, the buzzer rang, signaling that Trish's ride for school was there. The game was once again posponed until the following day.

* * *

A/N: Aren't you so happy I didn't make his middle name Obidiah? Happy enough to review? Please. 


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks for the continued support. I really do appreciate it.

* * *

Bobby was deep in thought as he completed the paperwork that accompanied the close of every case, so much so that he didn't hear Alex call out his name five times. In fact, he didn't even so much as twitch until the wad of paper hit his forehead, smack in the center.

He looked up sharply at his partner, "What was that for?"

"You weren't paying attention, Bobby," Alex said. "Now, I _asked _you if you figured out what you're doing for Trish's birthday, yet."

Her partner smirked, "Of course, Eames. We're eating breakfast with you, right? At that cafe a few blocks from you house?"

She nodded, "Seven thirty on the dot, Bobby. I'm giving her her present then, too."

"What are you getting her?" Bobby asked, trying to get an idea of what a good present for a girl's sweet sixteen was.

Alex grinned, "Nuuh, Goren. You can't steal my idea. You'll just have to be as surprised as she is on Sunday."

Bobby sent her a half hearted glare before he turned back to his paperwork, "You know, Eames, Lewis can't figure out what to get her, either. It's a terrible problem with men - we don't know how to shop."

"Bobby," Alex said, drawing his eyes up to look at hers, "Whatever you get her will be wonderful and she'll love and cherish it."

"How do you know that?"

"Because she'll be getting it from you."

* * *

"What about this one?" Mike asked, pointing to one of the necklaces in the display. 

Carolyn looked at it and then at him like he was insane, "Stop shopping for your grandmother, Mike. She's a _sixteen_-year-old girl - not _sixty_! Oohhh!" She picked up one of the nearby purses - a high end Coach bag. "She'd like this."

Mike looked at the price tag attached to the bag and just looked at his partner like she'd suggested he buy the teen a Porsche. Carolyn rolled her eyes at him, "Come on, Mike! We'll go in on it together. She'd really like it."

"I thought she didn't like brand name stuff like this?"

Carolyn rolled her eyes again at him, "_Every_ teenage girl likes high end designer bags, Mike. It's just about finding the right one - and I'm pretty sure this is it."

"Fine, Barek. We'll get her the bag."

* * *

Trish examined herself in the mirror. She adjusted the sweater-vest she wore before deciding that the yellow gold earrings she was wearing didn't go with her outfit and needed to be silver. Her hair was in a French braid, sitting between he shoulder blades. She wore black slacks with a boot cut, and a comfortable pair of brown suide boots she had purchased back in Vegas. Beneath her black vest she wore a baby blue, three-quarter length sleeved, oval necked shirt. All in all, she looked pretty good ... aside from the cast that still covered her left hand. 

"Hey, you ready?" Bobby asked from the doorway. He looked in on his niece and smiled slightly, "You look beautiful, Trish. She's going to love you."

Trish glanced at him, dressed in khaki pants and a black sweater. She nodded, mutely, wondering if he was right in the assumption that the woman she was going to meet would love her ... or even like her.

"Don't be scared, Trish," Bobby told her some time later as they walked into the Carmel Ridge care facility. "If she starts to have a break, I'll get you out of there, okay? I don't want you to see her like that."

The teen nodded, "Okay, Uncle Bobby. I just hope she likes me."

He stopped her just short of the receptionist's desk and put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Bobby smiled reassuringly at his young niece, "She's going to love you. Never doubt that."

She nodded and Bobby introduced Trish to the receptionist, Hannah. "It's nice to meet you, Trish," Hannah said with a smile. "You look like your grandmother."

"I hear that a lot," Trish replied with her own smile.

"You can go on in now, Detective."

"I'm going to go in first and tell her you're here, okay?" Bobby told his niece. "Just give me a few minutes before you come in."

"Okay," Trish replied, taking a seat in one of the chairs that lined the walls. She sat there and waited for a few minutes before she could stand to wait no longer and got up to go meet her grandmother.

"Hi," the teen whispered when she saw the elderly woman sitting on her bed, looking like a much older version of the teen, herself.

"Don't just stand there," Francise Goren said irritatedly, "Come on and give your old grandmother a hug."

Trish smiled tentatively and went to do just that. When she breathed in the perfume Francise was wearing, tears came to her eyes and she had to pull back. Her watery smile met her grandmother's as she explained, "Dad used to spray that on my blankets when I was little. He told me it was so I'd never forget what you smell like."

Francise just smiled back at the girl. She would sometimes worry that she'd die without having any grandchildren, and this one girl's existance quenched all those fears. The woman still wanted to see her younger son happy with at least a wife before she died ... but knowing that she was a grandmother would have to be enough for now.

"Now, dear," Francise said, motioning for Trish to sit next to her on the bed, "Tell me about yourself. How do you pass the time?"

"Well ... I read a lot. I'm working through Charles Dickens' works right now, but I just finished reading 1984."

As the granmother and granddaughter talked and got to know each other, Bobby took a back seat in the room and just watched them interact with a small smile on his face. It was almost a bitter smile as he remembered his own teenage years and how difficult home life had been for him - taking care of his mother all on his own ... But he couldn't begrudge his niece a good relationship with his mother. They both deserved it.

* * *

"How'd it go?" Alex asked him on the phone late that night when Bobby couldn't sleep and he knew that his partner would be up as well. 

"Good," he replied carefully. "It was a good day. I think Mom was tickled pink when she found out about Trish's book obsession. Do you think ...?"

"_No_, Bobby, you can't just buy her a book she hasn't read and expect that to be a good birthday present. It has to be something better."

"Define better, Eames."

"It's simple: _bet-ter_," Alex said it slowly this time, to make sure that he understood precisely how serious she was about it. "All girls need diamonds. You could get her one of those."

"I don't think she wants a clear stone that's a lot more common than people in the U.S. think it is. I'm not too into blood diamonds, either, Eames."

"Try a black diamond, Bobby. I know a jeweler who's very picky about the history of his diamond collection. You'll be able to find something pretty and clean of all blood. I'm sure of it."

"I'll think about it."

"I wouldn't expect any different from you, Goren."

He heard some water splashing in the background, "What are you doing, Eames?"

"Taking a bath, why?"

"You're calling me from your _bathtub_?" Bobby raised his eyebrows, the thought of Eames naked and wet entering his mind unbidden.

"You got a problem with that, Goren? Besides - you're the one that called _me_, remember? If you have stipulations on what I'm supposed to be doing while on the phone with you, please, tell me now so I can remember for next time."

Bobby rolled his eyes as he stifled a yawn, "Goodnight, Eames. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning for Trish's birthday breakfast."

"Night, Goren. Sleep well."

With the visions now floating in Bobby's mind about his partner (very ... _un_professional visions), he was sure that wouldn't be a problem.

* * *

A/N: This last part was just a little reminder that the fluff IS coming...relatively soon. 


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and support for this. I have no clue where the ship is headed but I'll let you know when we get there.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Trish," Alex said as she sat down across from Bobby and Trish at the little cafe Bobby and Alex frequented since the early years of their partnership. 

"Thanks, Alex," Trish replied with a smile as the waitress came and set down their respective orders. "We ordered for you, hope you don't mind," she explained when Alex frowned at the scone and frothy coffee that were now sitting in front of her.

"Not at all," Alex replied, taking a sip of the cinamon flavored espresso. She smiled again before passing a small jewelery box over to Trish, "Happy Sweet Sixteen."

The teen smiled again at the older woman and opened the box to discover a golden locket shaped like a book, on a thin golden chain. Curiously, Trish opened the locket to discover two pictures inside: one of St. Michael, patron of police officers, and the other of St. Jerome, patron of orphans. She looked back up at Alex with tears in her eyes.

"It's so you'll remember that they are always watching over you," Alex told her, tears welling in her own eyes.

"Thank you," Trish replied, unable to say more for fear of her tears breaking loose and running down her face.

Bobby glanced at the pictures engraved into the locket and then glanced back at his partner, his own gratitude etched in his eyes as he silently thanked Eames.

"What's next on the agenda?" Alex asked a little later on as the trio ate their breakfast.

Trish shrugged, "Ask him," she motioned with her head to her uncle. "He won't tell _me_."

"You didn't guess," Bobby said, as if it was a perfectly reasonable explaination.

"Guess what?" Eames wondered aloud.

"His middle name," Trish replied, the annoyance clear on her face. "Oliver?"

"No," Bobby replied, never taking his eyes off his muffin.

"Try Greek mythology," Alex advised the girl. She already knew Bobby's middle name - and she knew he'd be quite ... put out if she outright told his niece what it was.

"That's _assisting_, Eames," Bobby said, his head shooting up to send a half-hearted glare at his partner.

Alex's eyes went wide, "Well it's not like she's the _enemy_, Goren." She shrugged, "Besides, it's not like I told her to look up the Odyssey, or something like that!"

"You just did!" Bobby complained.

"Odysseus," Trish said, now very sure of herself, "You're middle name's Odysseus."

Bobby just glared at his partner as he nodded slightly. "Yes, my mother was going through a period of obsession with the Odyssey when I was born."

The resounding laughter caused the other other patrons of the cafe to look at the trio in concern and amusement.

* * *

"How's your birthday so far, Trish?" Lewis asked the teen as he greeted the pair when they arrived at the show. 

"It's been pretty good so far, Lewis," Trish replied with a smile. She looked around at her surroundings and asked, "What's all this?"

"You didn't tell her?" Lewis asked his long-time friend.

"I thought it would sound better coming from you," Bobby said defensively.

Lewis just sighed and turned back to Trish, "_This_ is Phase Two of your birthday: lazer tag."

Trish raised her eyebrows, "Lazer tag? I didn't know you could play that with three people."

Lewis pointed to a group that was forming by the doorway, "Try _ten _people."

Trish's eyebrows were getting quite a work-out as she watched the four Deakins' tramp out of their SUV, followed soon by another car containing Mike, Alex and Carolyn. She turned to her uncle and asked, "Lazer tag? Where'd _that_ idea come from?"

Bobby scratched the back of his neck as the rest of the group arrived. "Actually, it was my idea," Carolyn said with a grin. "I thought this would be safer than you _actually _shooting your uncle after living with him for a month."

The laughter that responded Carolyn's statement was loud and heartfelt. Most there knew how ... exasperating the big detective could get. "It's not that bad, Carolyn," Trish commented before frowning and tilting her head to one side in the same manner as her uncle. "No, no, not _that_ bad. It gets close, though."

Jenny just grinned at her new friend, "Happy birthday, Trish." Her sister, Sammy - older by two years, handed the birthday girl a small bag.

"Thank you," Trish replied with a truthful smile. This was proving to be the best birthday she'd had since her mother had died. She passed the bag to her uncle, "I'll open it after we kick your asses at lazer tag."

"We?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, "Who's _we_?"

"Me, Alex, Carolyn, Jenny and Sammy."

"Wait a minute," Mike argued, "You can't have a team full of women! Barek and Eames are the best shots I know!"

Trish just cocked her head at him with a look, leaving the talking to Carolyn who said, "She just did, idiot. It's her birthday, Mike, she can do whatever she wants." The teen just smiled in a very self-satisfied manner after Carolyn's statement.

* * *

"How do we plan on winning this thing?" Angie asked the four men on her team as they all 'geared up' for the match. 

Lewis shrugged as her, "I'm about as clueless as you are."

"If Goren and Logan can keep their partners' attention occupied we should be able to take care of the girls," Jimmy said, shooting a look at his two detectives. "That is ... if we can keep Barek and Eames out of play through most of this thing."

"I'm not really sure that's possible," Bobby said, "Eames is a little thing and it's easy to miss her and end up hitting the wall behind her head. I think we have better luck focusing our attention on evading them and just biding our time until the timer runs out."

"Are you _afraid_, Goren?" Mike asked his coworker with a smirk as he 'checked his weapon'.

Bobby sent Mike a look that revealed the danger of the situation as he said, "Yes, Mike. Yes, I am."

"We're going to lose, aren't we?" Angie asked Lewis as they made their way into the combat arena.

"Without a doubt," the mechanic replied, keeping his voice low so as not to attract the wrath of Mike Logan (who was still dilutional into thinking that the men - and Angie - could win).

* * *

"I can't believe we actually won!" Mike said gleefully as the group sat around a large table in a nearby pizzaria for lunch.

"What are you talking about Logan? _They _won,_ you_ spent the entire game getting shot," Barek said with a grin.

"Taking the attention away from Bobby and Deakins as they kicked your guys' ... butts to Kingdom Come," Mike said cheekily.

Trish gave him a look that clearly said she doubted his logic before Lewis said, "Oh, Trish, I almost forgot - I have your birthday present back at the house. I didn't think you'd want to carry it around all day."

"That's okay, Lewis, you can give it to me later," the birthday girl said as their waitress arrived with their previously ordered. "Thank you, Uncle Bobby."

Jimmy shook his head, "I still find it a little hard to believe that you're actually an uncle, Goren."

"You and me both," Bobby said. "I never really expected Frank to have kids.

"But you're glad he did, right?" Trish asked, suddenly very anxious.

Bobby smiled at her reasuringly, "Beyond glad."

* * *

A/N: So? What do you guys think? The second half of her birthday is up next. 


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: The second part of Trish's birthday.

* * *

The designer bag had gone off just as Carolyn had said it would when Mike gave it to the teen. She said it reminded her of the glitz and glam of Vegas.

After lunch, of course, the Deakins' had to be going home, Mike had paperwork he needed to finish, and Lewis and Alex wouldn't say where they were going off to.

"Ready for Phase Three?" Carolyn asked the teen as Bobby hailed a cab.

"What's Phase Three?" Trish asked her curiously.

"The Met."

* * *

For the next few hours Trish explored the wonder that is the Metropolitan Museum of Art with the help and knowledge of Carolyn Barek and Bobby Goren. They spent a good portion of their time examining the Indian exhibition, taking special care not to miss one piece of the centuries old art. It really was one of the best birthday presents she had ever gotten - second only to the last birthday she had shared with both her parents, when they had saved for months to buy her a early edition of _The Velvitine Rabbit_ ... it was later sold to pay off her father's gambling debt. 

"Thank you so much, Uncle Bobby," Trish said as they waited for a cab outside the museum. "Today has really been the best birthday I've had since my mom died."

Bobby smiled warmly at his niece as he pulled her under one of his arms, "You're welcome, sweetie, but it's not over yet."

"What to you mean?" the teen asked, giving him a strange look, "We've already done everything we have to."

He shook his head, "Not everything." He gave her a smile that was mischevous and reassuring at the same time.

They took a cab back to the apartment and Bobby told Trish to wear the new dress that Alex had picked out with her the week before. Apparently they were going out someplace nice. As they waited for a second cab to take them where ever it was that her uncle had decided to take her, Trish looked at him. "You look nice," she finally commented. He did, too - dressed in a black pinstripe suit, black dress shirt and a muted purple tie. "Are you sure we're not meeting Alex there?"

Bobby blushed crimson, "We're not meeting Eames," he mumbled, wondering if his feelings for his partner were really that obvious.

Trish didn't have to wonder very long about where they were going, because soon they were waiting at the interance to a cozy little restaurant.

"Uncle Bobby?" Trish asked, her eyes wide as they were seated at a little table close to the stage that contained a small band. The table was set with a bouquet of snowdrops surrounding a lone crocus. "What's all this?"

"The last thing we have to do to make your birthday complete," he replied, taking out a jewelry box from his jacket and pushing it across the table to her. "Happy birthday, sweetie."

She cautiously opened the box to find an elegant pendant on a chain of white gold. The pendant was shaped like a heart, with a black diamond occupying the point of the heart. She looked up at him with awe in her eyes, "It's beautiful. Thank you, Uncle Bobby."

He smiled back, pleased that she liked it, "No problem, sweetie."

Soon there were a number of appitizers in front of them as they talked about anything and everything that might cause them to smile. After their entre plates had been cleared away, the band, which had been playing soft melodies throughout, struck up a new song that Trish had never heard before. What surprised her even more was the lyrics:

"For fifteen years I've played a waiting game  
I've suffered like they do in Russian plays  
But if what's in store is really what they claim  
I must admit that suffering really pays  
For fifteen years I've been just like a prisoner in a cell!  
For fifteen years my life has been just ... _aweful_!

From one to four was such a bore  
I remember how I hated having all those people paw over me  
And talk baby talk and they'd say 'Goo goo, Isn't she cunning? Poor dear,  
She has her father's nose. Atetetete.'

The years from five to eight I hate  
I've grown into a very unattractive child and consiquently was utterly and completely ignored  
But I didn't really mind. I had a book of Mother Goose ...  
And Mother Goose is pretty hot stuff when you're five years old."

The lead singer descended from the stage and started to approach Bobby and Trish's table. She sent a smile to Bobby as the spotlight moved from the stage to focus on the teen as well. Her eyes were wide with fright and wonder as the song continued:

"At nine I had the meassles, so that didn't count.  
At ten, I had reached the _performing stage  
_And at the drop of a hat Mother would call me in and have me sing _The Rosery_ for her guests...  
I never will forget how Papa used to squirm when I hit that high note.

From eleven to thirteen I'd rather not speak of:  
It was bad enough having Jimmy Duken pull my hair at school,  
But it was possitively humiliating to have my own _mother _refer to me as her ... Dear little ugly duckling

At fourteen, I had my first taste of romance.  
It was at a party at dancing school, and he was younger than I was ... and shorter than I was ...  
Oh, but he had a wonderful name: Archibol!  
And he really liked me, too; he really did! But I had to go and spoil it all...  
I asked him right out if he'd be my best beau ... (sigh)  
That was the last I ever saw of him.

By now I was fifteen and pretty miserable: Mother refused to let me wear any lipstick or rouge  
So I went around looking as pale as death. It was then that I'd decided to join the monistary.  
And I would have too ... if it hadn't been for Bing Crosby.  
I was afraid they wouldn't have any radios in monistaries...  
So: I devoted my fifteenth year to Craft cheese."

Trish's look had gone from horrified to amused as she sent her uncle a look that clearly said she'd pay him back for this little show.

"But now it's a different story, I can brush away the tears  
And laugh at those aweful fifteen years.  
For now I'm sweet sixteen, and I've got my first long dress  
I can even have a date one night a week  
I can paint my lips a little, and rouge my cheek  
I'm sweet sixteen but I really must confess  
Although this grown up life isn't simple  
I wouldn't change places with Shirley Temple  
Gee it's great to be just as free as the birds above me  
I'm a Juliet, out to get a Romeo to love me  
I ask you please forget that I was an in-between  
I mean:  
My flags unfurled,  
I'm a woman of the world!  
I'm sweet sixteen!"

The song ended on a high note and the occupants of the restaurant clapped as the singer added, "And a very happy sweet sixteen to Detective Bobby Goren's niece, Trish. Thank you for letting us celebrate it with you."

* * *

"Okay, it wasn't _that _bad, but really, Alex! It was a Judy Garlend song!" Trish told her uncle's partner over cake about two hours later while Bobby cleared something up with Lewis about when to bring over his present. 

"I thought you liked Judy Garlend?"

"That's not the point. The point is that the damn _spotlight_ was on me for the rest of the song. I don't_ like_ being the center of attention."

Alex grinned at her, "You're just like Bobby when it comes to stuff like that. Look, Lewis is here."

"Hi, Lewis," Trish said with a smile as her uncle and his friend came into the room. "What's in the box?"

Bobby looked downright pissed but refrained from speaking as Lewis set the box down and opened it to reveal ... a puppy.

* * *

A/N: Sorry to end it like this, but I have a thing for reviews. I like them as much as you hate cliffhangers. 


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Sorry it's been a while. I've been rather busy this past week.

* * *

It was a very cute puppy, granted, but it wasn't what Trish had exactly been expecting. From the look on her uncle's face it wasn't what he'd been expecting either. 

"Aww, how cute!" she gushed over the cocker spaniel as she sat on the floor next to the box and picked it up. Quickly checking to make sure of the gender she proclaimed, "I think I'll call you Elli. She's been spayed, right?"

"Yes, she's been spayed and had all her shots and tests," Lewis replied with a grin. "Do you like her?"

Trish looked at him like he was a little slow, "Her _name_ is Elli - Norse goddess of old age. It's said that once she even beat Thor in a wrestling match." She grinned at the mechanic, "I love her, Lewis. Thank you." She held the dog up to her face, Elli's little face pointed at Bobby, "Isn't she cute, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby wrinkled his nose, "Yeah. Cute."

"Oh, come on, Goren, you're not telling me that you don't like _dogs_ - are you?" Alex teased with a smile.

"I just ... never really got along with them. I perfer cats."

"Well, we're just going to have to make sure that you_ love_ Elli," Trish announced, firmly wrapped around the little dog's paws already.

* * *

Months passed: Trish finally got her cast removed, no worse for wear; Elli was house-trained in a record amount of time; Bobby settled into a nice routine of working, taking care of his mother, and building a solid relationship with his niece; and at long last he agreed to let Trish get her GED (which she passed with flying colors) and start college at the age of sixteen (she now just had to wait for the fall semester to start). For the first time in a long time Bobby could count himself as being content with what he had in life. His niece loved him, he had a small group of really good friends, a job he was excellent at ... and he got to see the woman of his dreams every day. 

Too bad she didn't know she was the woman of his dreams. It made his dreaming a bit more embarrassing.

The more time she spent in New York the more Trish began to see how deeply her uncle cared for his partner - and how deeply his partner cared for him. For the life of her she couldn't understand why they wouldn't just go ahead and go out on a date already. She had tried breaching the subject with her uncle once, but his only response was that she was too young to understand. Like hell she was.

Finally, in the middle of May, Trish decided it would be best to ask Jimmy what his view of the situation was.

"I just don't understand," she said as she sat in his office while her Uncle Bobby and Alex were out at a crime scene. "Is it against the rules for them to date?"

Jimmy Deakins smiled at Bobby's niece. Sometimes it almost scared him how much the two were alike at picking up on things. "Not exactly, Trish. Alex is just the first long-term partner Bobby's ever had. He doesn't want to lose her."

"I know all that!" the teen proclaimed. "But he _won't_ lose her. Those looks don't just go one way, Jimmy. He's just too pigheaded to notice anything like that from her."

"And Alex?"

"Is too busy trying to deny that there's anything to the rumors to realize that there is."

Deakins couldn't keep the smile from his face at Trish's pronouncement. "Are you sure you don't want to become a detective?"

Trish grinned at him, "About as much as I want to become a stunt devil."

"Look, Trish, the brass doesn't really care one way or another if your uncle is sleeping with his partner - but when partners get involved with each other, the risks of that partnership failing triple, at least."

"Do you think that would happen with Uncle Bobby and Alex?"

Jimmy didn't respond for a good while, and for a moment Trish wasn't sure if he was going to respond at all. Then he quietly shook his head and softly said, "No, I don't."

"Good," Trish nodded once, "Then I hope you won't mind that I'm now going to be putting into action a plan to see to it that they stop acting like idiots."

Jimmy grinned at that, "I'll bet you thirty that you can't do it in under a month."

"No making them work late?" Trish questioned, wanting to make sure, at his nod she grinned and picked up Elli's leash from her lap, "You're on, Captain."

* * *

"Hi, Carolyn? It's Trish," the teen said into the phone. 

"Oh, hi, Trish. What can I do for you?" the detective asked as her partner pulled up to the diner she had chosen for lunch.

"I was kinda wondering if you could take Alex shopping sometime this week to buy a red cocktail dress."

"Can I ask why?" Carolyn wondered with a small grin.

"Of course you can ask why. That doesn't mean I have to answer."

Carolyn chuckled, causing Mike to give her an odd look as they sat down. "Sure, Trish. I'll make sure she has one by the end of the week. Anything else?"

"Actually, yes. Is Mike with you?"

"Yeah, he's right here," Carolyn handed the phone to Mike, "She wants to talk to you."

"Hello?" Mike asked curiously.

"Hi, Mike! Do you happen to know of any really good Italian restaurants in the city?"

"Umm ... Del Posto is good. But Babbo is my personal favorite. Why?"

"No particular reason," she was quick to reassure him. "Thanks for your help. Bye!"

"Bye," Mike said as he heard the phone click off. He gave his partner a curious look as he said, "I wonder what's going on with her. What'd she ask you?"

Carolyn rolled her eyes, "Like I'm telling you."

"Oh, come on! Do you think it has something to do with Goren and Eames?"

"I_ know_ it has something to do with Goren and Eames," Carolyn replied. "But what, I can't be sure."

"I think she's trying to get them together."

"Fifty bucks says she does it by the end of the week."

"You're on."

* * *

"Uncle Bobby?" Trish asked that night as they ate dinner. 

"Hmm?" he asked, his eyes flickering up to hers.

"What are you doing for Alex's and your anniversary on Friday?" she innocently asked.

Bobby stopped, remembered he had food in his mouth, swallowed carefully and looked up at his niece, "What?"

"Your sixth anniversary of being partners. Are you taking her out to dinner or are you going to cook her something here?"

"What makes you think I'm making her dinner?"

Trish shrugged, "You should. I hear good things about Babbo - that restaurant Mario Batali runs. Three stars since it's opened in '98. You should take her there."

"I don't have reservations," he tried to get out of it.

"Actually ... you do." Trish looked at him with a pleased smile - she had come up with a very good story to get the matre d' to put down the reservation for two under the name of Goren. It was just her luck that there was actually a pretty good table open due to a cancellation. "For eight o'clock on Friday night. No excuses, Uncle Bobby."

Bobby glared at his niece, "Fine, Trish. I'll ask her."

"Good," Trish replied with a self-satisfied nod. She yawned, "I'm gonna hit the sack, Uncle Bobby. I start my new job down at the bodega tomorrow."

* * *

A/N: What do you guys think? I personally think Mario Batali is one of the greatest chefs of the 20th and 21st centuries. 


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: So sorry for the long wait, but my muse decided to take a little trip to focus more on ideas for the movie Labyrinth half way through this chapter. I came back and what happened was completely and entirely unexpected. Please forgive me.

* * *

"Uncle Bobby, if you don't get your butt out here right now I'm going to go in there and pick out the damn tie myself!" Trish yelled at the closed door to her uncle's bedroom with a glare that could have melted glacial ice.

"Hang on!" he yelled back, "You're not going to die from anticipation if you wait just _one_ more minute!"

"How do you know?" she smarmily shot back. "I could have a coronary embolism from all the anxiety."

"All right!" he shouted, stepping out of his bedroom with two ties in his hand (both had been gifts from Eames). "Which one?"

"Hmmm…" Trish contemplated the choices before her: on the left was a burgundy colored tie with small gold threads making it sparkle in the light; but on the right was a pale blue tie with dark blue polka dots covering it. "That one," she said, pointing to the one on the left. She smirked as her uncle put it on, knowing that it matched the dress Alex had purchased perfectly.

As Bobby complied, unquestioning of his niece's choice, she glanced at her watch, "You'd better hurry or you're gonna be late, Uncle Bobby."

Bobby glanced at his own watch before swearing as he hurriedly finished tying the silk around his neck and rushing out the door.

"Have fun!" Trish called out as he left to go pickup his partner for dinner at one of Mario Batali's restaurants.

After she was sure he was gone she picked up the phone with a grin and dialed a memorized number. When the man on the other end picked up she said, "He's on his way to pick her up now to go to dinner. _No_ phone calls. And I'll need that thirty bucks in cash."

Deakins just chuckled, "I thought we said two dates?"

"So, fifteen now, fifteen then."

---

Alex opened the door just as Bobby had raised his hand to knock. She opened her mouth to speak but quickly closed it again as she took in the sight of Bobby dressed impeccably in an Armani suit.

"No fair," she finally said with a small smile, "You can get away with wearing that every day of the week."

He smiled slightly, that little boy smile he only uses for her, before he said, "You look lovely, Eames. Ready to go?"

"Sure," Alex replied, "And it's Alex, tonight."

"Whatever you say. Alex." He liked the sound of her name on his lips _way_ too much for his own good. Oh, boy, it was going to be a long night.

"How did you get reservations at Babbo's?" Alex asked Bobby as they waited to be seated at the famous Italian restaurant.

"Trish did. She still won't tell me how she did it, though," Bobby said, still wondering how his niece had managed to make the reservations on such short notice.

"Well then," Alex said with a small smile as their waiter came up to take their order, "Let's just enjoy it."

---

Trish was re-reading one of her favorite books while she waited for her uncle to get back from his date; _The Count of Monte Cristo_. Elli was asleep atop Trish's feet, keeping them cozy warm as the minutes ticked by. She was engrossed in the pages that told the familiar story of a man named Edmond when she heard the scraping of a key in the lock.

A frown furrowed on her face as she listened to what she now could identify as lock picks being inserted into the key hole. Terror seized her body as she quietly rose from the sofa and went to get her uncle's Glock from his bedside table. She had just opened the nightstand when she felt the muzzle of a gun pressed into her back.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," a clipped, Australian accented voice spoke calmly. "Wouldn't want Uncle Bobby getting in a tizzy over shell casings, now would we, Trish? And let's not forget your lovely little puppy in the other room. You wouldn't want _her_ to get hurt, now would you?"

The teen slowly turned around and raised her hands in surrender, the sound of a surprised yelp from Elli, signaling that she had woken from her impromptu nap to find intruders in her house. Their captor was a supposedly lovely woman in her early forties with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and blue eyes that held a level of cruelty that Trish had never seen before.

"You must be Nicole Wallace," she said with surety and a clear voice that contradicted her beating heart.

She smiled, showing off white teeth in a feral-like manner that sent a shiver of fear down Trish's spine, "So he has spoken of me. How sweet. Now come, Trish, it's time for you to become a pawn in our little game."

Seemingly out of nowhere two muscled men came forward, one held Trish still while the other injected her with some sort of serum that froze her body without affecting her mind.

Trish was now wide awake and unable to move a muscle. Even breathing became difficult and labored as she was carried from the apartment, out the back, and into a waiting van that had no windows. Her terror was complete.

---

Bobby's cell phone rang some time in the middle of their shared plate of chocolate hazelnut cake. He picked it up, recognizing the number as the apartment and asked, "What is it, Trish?"

A familiar laughter answered him - and it wasn't his niece's. "That's rich, Bobby, I never thought you'd ever confuse me with your niece. Nice girl. You've done a remarkable job in the past few months."

"Nicole, what did you do to her?" his fear was clearly written across his face as he spoke, and his words prompted Alex to pick up her own cell phone and call the captain.

"Absolutely nothing, Bobby," Nicole replied lightly. "But if you want that to remain the status quo then … we'll have to think of something, now won't we?" She chuckled again as he began to feel light headed. "Good bye, Bobby. I'll be speaking with you soon."

The line went dead, and with it went a piece of Bobby's soul.

---

The outrage at Nicole Wallace's actions stretched far through Major Case and seeped into the Special Victim's Unit, who were told to work jointly to get Trish back with Major Case. Of course, when Cragen heard the news of exactly _whose_ niece it was that had been kidnapped, he assigned four of his best detectives to work in tandem with those from MCS - the case headquarters to be at One Police Plaza.

Stabler and Fin combed through the 'crime scene' under the ever watchful gazes of Goren and Eames.

"No sign of struggle, or forced entry," Stabler said as he glanced over the broad range of titles on the Goren's bookcases.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," one of the CSU techs said. "There are scratches on the outside of the door knob. They could just be from a misplaced key -"

"The hall is always well lit," Bobby told them with a shake of his head, wanting to kick all these people out of his apartment but knowing that they had to be there in case Nicole had made a mistake. "And the door knob's new."

"Then it could be from lock picks," the CSU tech said with a nod, turning back to her task of combing the entry way for any evidence.

"We found this in the bedroom back there," Fin said as he walked into the living room with a bagged syringe cap inside it.

Bobby's face went white when he saw it and Alex stated his thoughts for the detectives unfamiliar with his thought process, "She was reading, Elli was asleep … and she heard the lock picks."

"She went to get the Glock," Bobby whispered for the benefit of the SVU detectives. "I- I keep it in my nightstand."

Fin frowned, "There was no sign of any kind of gun in there."

The situation had just gone from bad to worse.

* * *

A/N: I'll dodge all tomatoes thrown at me, but please throw them through reviews. 


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: So sorry this has taken so long to get out, but life's gotten in the way of this one and my muse has decided she likes my other WIPs better. Here you are at last. The next chapter is already half-written.

* * *

"You know you'll never get away with this," Trish told Nicole when she saw her the next day. The teen had woken up in a dark room void of all forms of natural light, and illuminated only by an industrial light bulb hanging from the ceiling. 

Nicole grinned, completely without humor, as she took a few steps closer to her prisoner, "Poor little girl, who ever said anything about getting away?"

"He's going to kill you," Trish tried again, unsure what Nicole was getting at.

Nicole laughed fully before she replied with, "Why would that bother me, Trishna? In fact, I'm counting on it."

Trish's face furrowed into a frown, "Why are you doing this? What purpose does torturing him like this serve? What makes you think you can break him?'

Her smile was eerie and calm, "I have taken away from him the same thing he took away from me. Now be a good girl and eat your vegetables." It was then that Trish noticed that the same burly man who had helped in her capture was with them in the room and carrying a tray of food.

The teen unconsciously shied away from the man, causing Nicole to laugh, "If I wanted to kill you, Trish, you wouldn't be alive now. Would you?"

Her shielded brown eyes met the cold blue ones laughing menacingly back at her, "That depends how much you want my uncle to suffer."

Nicole's feral grin was all the response Trish got from the woman as the burly man approached, causing the girl to unconsciously flinch back into a ball of limbs.

---

Elli whimpered sadly as she finally approached the human who took care of her human. She wanted _her_ human. It wasn't that this other human was mean to her by any means - she was certain that he liked her … but _her_ human would scratch her behind her ears and play with her even if she was doing something already. Elli's human always played with her.

She whimpered again as she pawed the leg of her human's uncle. When he looked down she did her best to look sad as she barked once, requesting to be picked up. He sighed and knelt down to do so. Elli burrowed her head in the crook of his arm as he petted her gently. He really was quite comfortable.

"I miss her, too," he whispered to the dog confidentially.

"Goren, you can't stay here tonight," Fin reminded him a few moments later. "It's a crime scene."

He nodded, "I know …"

"You'll stay at my place," Alex said firmly, "And I won't hear anything different, understand?"

Bobby nodded mutely, wondering how she knew that he would want to stay there. It would be the only way for him to get any amount of sleep while Trish remained in the hands of Nicole Wallace.

Stabler wasn't a big fan of Robert Goren, but he did like how his niece was with his daughters, and he held a certain amount of respect for the big detective for taking the girl in when she had no one else to turn to and no where else to go. He felt the need to give him some sort of consolidation and hope.

"Goren," he said, his face as serious as his voice, "We'll find her."

Bobby shook his head, "I don't doubt that, Stabler. We'll find what Nicole wants us to find when she wants us to find it."

Alex frowned with worry at her partner before thanking the SVU detectives and moving to usher him out the door. "Come on, big guy, I got a nice big couch with your name on it."

"I need clothes, Eames," he tried to tell her, "And we need to get food for Elli."

"There's a bag of food at my place for Elli, and you left your duffel bag over there from when you were looking for this place with Trish. Let's go, Goren," her tone left no room for argument and soon the two were walking toward the elevator, on their way down to the parking garage.

"Damn it," Stabler said, "What kind of psycho would do this?"

"We deal with pedophiles and rapists every day, Elliot," Benson replied.

He shook his head at his partner as they got into their own SUV and made their way back to their squad room to look over the facts and try to get Trish back as soon as possible. "This isn't a pedophile or a rapist, Liv. This … woman - haven't you heard the stories about what she did to Goren? She's _pure_ evil. We gotta get Trish outta there before anything happens to her."

"From your mouth to God's ear."

---

"Dad?" Kathleen approached her father timidly two days later. "There's a rumor going around school about Trish."

Elliot looked up sharply at his daughter. "What about Trish?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"People are saying she got kidnapped, Dad. Is that true?" Kathleen asked her father, her eyes full of fear and trepidation.

Elliot knew he shouldn't tell her that they were true - hell, they hadn't even heard anything from Wallace about a ransom or any other demands. He hesitated too long, however, and Kathleen gasped in surprise, "They are true. Trish is kidnapped!"

"We're doing everything we can to get her back, sweetheart," he tried to sooth his daughter. "We'll get her back."

---

Deakins hated seeing his detectives out of control, but there was no other way to put it: since Wallace got hold of Trish, Bobby had been punishing himself and trying to find out where she was. He'd been put on leave since the day of the kidnapping, but that didn't stop Goren from going into work and unofficially trying to find his niece.

It was so hard for Deakins and the rest of the squad watch their fellow detective spiral into that vortex of self-destruct, and none of them were sure what would have happened if it hadn't been for Eames. Sometimes Logan was able to get Goren to at least eat a few bites of real food … but Eames was the only one who was able to convince him to sleep.

Then, on day three of the investigation, Deakins got the call they had been anxiously awaiting.

"You might want to bring in Bobby, Captain Deakins," an Australian voice told him as soon as he picked up the phone. "Wouldn't want him to miss the opportunity to speak to his niece, now would we?"

"Goren, Eames, get in here," Deakins shouted before putting the call on speaker phone.

"We're here," Goren said to whoever was on the other line of the phone, "Now what?"

"I thought you might like to know my demands, Bobby," Nicole told him flippantly from the other end of the connection. "Don't bother trying to trace this call - it's being bounced off five different satellites in Singapore."

"What do you want, Nicole?" Bobby snapped at his tormentor.

Her evil laughter filled the room before she replied, "More than you'd ever give me, Bobby." She let the innuendo hang in the air before she continued, "But if you really want to know …"

"Before I do anything, Nicole," he spat, "I want to talk to Trish."

"Of course you do. You have one minute."

The phone was transferred and during the transfer he heard the sounds of someone being rudely awoken.

"Uncle Bobby?" Trish's terrified voice asked.

"Trish," he said, closing his eyes to stop the tears that threatened to escape. "It's going to be all right."

"Uncle Bobby," she whispered tiredly, "None of this is your fault. I love you."

"I love you, too," he whispered in reply as the phone was transferred back to Nicole and her cruel voice came on the line again.

"Now you've spoken to her and you know she's all right," an angry Nicole snapped at him, "I expect you to be a little more cooperative now."

"What do you want, Nicole?"

She chuckled, "I want Gwen back."

The line went dead.

* * *

A/N: So? What do you all think? Poor Elli. Thank you all so much for the reviews you've been feeding me. Please keep them coming to help motivate my lazy muse. I can't promise when the next update will be, but a flicker of hope: THIS WILL NOT BECOME MY FIRST PERMINATE WIP. I WILL FINISH IT. 

Oh, and Happy Father's Day.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Okay, here's that fluff I promised you guys ever ago. Hope you like it.

* * *

Alex found Bobby sitting in a dark interrogation room - the same one they had interrogated Nicole Wallace in - looking at a picture she had taken of the Goren's on Trish's sixteenth birthday. Trish was holding Elli up to Bobby's face and the big detective was making a face as the puppy licked his cheek. The teen was grinning widely at the look on her uncle's face.

"Hey," she whispered as she slid down to sit beside her partner. She studied the picture he was holding and put her arm around his shoulders comforting him the only way she knew how, "We'll get her back, Bobby. You have to believe that."

His tormented eyes met his partner's, "I never should have brought her here. Nicole … will use anything to get to me. I should have known she'd get to me through Trish. She said it was because of Gwen."

"Bobby, this is not your fault," Alex told him sternly, her concern for him growing by the second, "You can't control Nicole and what leaps her twisted mind makes. No one but you thinks that you can." He turned away from her and her words, unable to meet her eyes. Alex grabbed his arm and in a low voice commanded, "Look at me, Bobby."

When he met her eyes at last he saw fierce sincerity in them that shook him to the core. "It. Is. _Not_. _Your_. Fault."

His body trembled as he tried, unsuccessfully, to digest her words. It had been more than a week since Nicole's phone call and they were no closer to finding her than they had been on that first day. He didn't know when the tears started, but soon he was crying uncontrollably into Alex's shoulder as they held onto each other for dear life. Bobby could feel his own shoulder moisten with Alex's tears as they sat there for who knew how long.

Deakins walked past the interrogation room and frowned when he saw the partners wrapped in each other's arms as they cried. He looked away, saddened by the fact that it had taken Trish getting kidnapped to bring the two partners closer together. He hoped their relationship could weather whatever Nicole Wallace threw at them next.

---

"Come on," Alex whispered, sometime later. "I'm gonna take you home."

He tried to object but Alex cut him off before he could start, "You haven't really slept ever since she left, Bobby. You can't go on like this. Deakins can just as easily call us at my house if there's a lead. Now let's go."

As testament to her words, Bobby didn't even raise a fuss for appearance's sake as Alex told Deakins she was taking Bobby home and they gathered their things and left the bullpen.

He had been staying at Alex's house since Trish had been kidnapped, but sleep had always been evasive. Even when it did come, Bobby's dreams always held a dark side that had saddened Alex, but ever since Trish had been kidnapped they had only grown worse.

When they arrived at Alex's house, Bobby went to change out of his work clothes while Alex cleaned up the living room a bit. He came back out with a blanket and pillow for the sofa but Alex stopped him again, "You're not sleeping on that sofa again, Bobby! It's too small for you. The bed would be better."

Bed? Didn't she mean guest bed? He hadn't been able to bring himself to sleep in the room once occupied by his now missing niece and thus far Alex had respected those wishes."

"Not the guest bed, Bobby," Alex clarified, seeing the doubt in his eyes. "My bed."

"I'm not kicking you out of your bed, Eames."

"For the last time, it's Alex, and you wouldn't be kicking me out of my bed!"

"Then you better have every intention of staying in there with me, _Alex_," Bobby challenged, hoping she'd back down and just let him go to sleep on the fucking sofa.

Alex hesitated, unsure if his statement was sincere or made just out of anger. "If you want me to, then I'll stay," she replied cautiously.

He motioned for her to start down the hallway before him, "By all means. Ladies first."

"Age before beauty," she quipped back, wanting to make sure that he really was going to sleep in a _real_ bed that night and not a ten-year-old sofa.

---

She awoke sometime before dawn, to the sound of quickened breathing and someone tossing and turning next to her. Bobby was having a nightmare.

"Bobby, wake up," she told him, wise enough to know not to touch him in his dream state lest he'd hurt her and then feel guilty enough never to sleep over at her house again. "It's just a dream, Bobby. Wake up."

His eyes shot open and he looked around franticly, finally meeting her eyes after a long while. She could see the tension leave his body. He pulled her close, relieved that his dream wasn't real. He buried his face into her hair, the smell of her shampoo calming him greatly.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked softly as she stroked his hair.

He didn't respond, just pulled her all the more tightly against his own body. She waited patiently for him to decide he was calm enough to tell her what the nightmare had been about.

But, instead of answering her, Bobby laid there, with her in his arms protectively, listening to her heart beat soothingly. Hesitantly, afraid she'd push him away, but unable to stop his actions, he turned his head to kiss the soft skin right above Alex's heart. Her kind, loving heart.

Her breath hitched when she felt his warm lips on her skin. The fire in her belly that was almost always present when she was around her giant of a partner, exploded with the sensation. Determination filled her as she pulled his renegade lips up to taste her own.

---

"Just don't tell me you regret it, Bobby," Alex told him when they woke a few hours later to get ready for work (even though both were on leave).

He shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief, "Of course not, Eames!"

"Then why can't you call me by my first name?" she shot back as she zipped up her black cotton slacks.

That stopped him in his tracks as he tied his silk tie. "What?"

"Why can't you call me Alex?" she asked, her voice softer this time, as it had been the night before when she had comforted him after his nightmare.

He shook his head as he whispered, "Please don't ask me to do that, Eames." His eyes were filled with something she couldn't identify, but knew was important.

She closed the space between them in a few strides and leaned up to kiss his mouth full-on. When she pulled away he groaned softly and she smiled. "Okay. Eames at work, Lexi at home."

"I can call you that … Lexi."

The pair was about to continue when the phone rang.

"Eames," she answered.

"You're partner's with you, right, Eames?" Logan asked, breathlessly.

"Yeah, he's here, Mike. Why?"

"We found her."

* * *

A/N: I had to give a reason to Bobby never calling her Alex. It will be discussed later, but you all can send me ideas if you like. I haven't decided yet.

Oh, and anyone want to take a stab in the dark about how they found Trish?


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Okay, I think I've kept you all waiting long enough for this chapter - considering, especially, that I left the last chapter with such a cliff hanger and some of you are of the opinion that I'm an 'evil, evil woman'. I tell you, I'm not!

* * *

Trish was woken from her restless sleep by the jarring of the door to her cell opening. She kept her eyes closed as she identified the steps of the person entering the cell as being the worse of the two large cronies Nicole had scrounged up from the slums of New York. Trish had come to call the worse of the two, 'Cock Sucking Whine-o' (Whine-o for short). The (marginally) nicer of the two was just called Douche Bag.

Whine-o always wore army boots that provided a very particular thud when he walked. Trish _really_ didn't like hearing that thud. It always meant trouble. It had all started the second day of her 'stay' when he had entered for the first time without either Nicole or Douche Bag with him.

She shuddered at the memory, and the feeling of his fingers on her already bruised skin. He often chuckled at her as she whimpered in pain as he tortured her. Douche Bag would just hit her and pull her hair … but what Whine-o did was much, _much_ worse. The ways he defiled her made her not only feel so dirty she knew she'd never get clean again, but he also took a piece of her soul with him every time he touched her like that.

Her eyes slowly opened as she realized that it was not the sound of army boots she heard on the floor … but the soft pitter patter of Douche Bag's tennis shoes on the concrete. She was weak as a kitten from the abuse inflicted on her - physical from Douche Bag, sexual and physical from Whine-o, and psychological from Nicole. It had been five days since Douche Bag had last visited. He was the one who brought her food and now Trish wasn't sure how much more she could take.

Trish's eyes refused to focus as Douche Bag came closer. She moaned incoherently, causing him to swear something in a foreign tongue.

She tried to move away as she felt his fingers press against her already bruised neck but his words, now spoken in English, stilled her movements, "I'm just checking your pulse."

"Let me go," she finally found the strength to whisper. "Please, just let me go."

He swore again, knowing he shouldn't cross Nicole. But this wasn't what he'd signed on for when he'd been approached about the best way to do a kidnapping. Twenty thousand dollars was a lot of money … but this girl was worth more than that. And she was badly beaten. He knew that he was the only one who brought her any food or water - and he'd been in the joint for the past four days. Damn it, he hadn't signed on for this!

"I'm going to take you to the hospital, Trish. It's gonna hurt."

Gingerly, he picked her up, inwardly wincing at her painful moans as he carried her away from that place and to the nearby hospital. He'd do his time in solitary and try not to piss off the guards.

---

Stabler and Benson got the call that they were needed at the hospital minutes after Goren and Eames did. When they arrived, they passed an outgoing African American man in the custody of the NYPD. It took all Stabler's willpower not to run to make sure Trish was doing all right.

"Trishna Goren," he told one of the ER nurses.

"Room 157," the nurse told them without looking up.

She looked bad. Her already pale skin was sickly, bruises on nearly all visible areas on her skin, both SVU detectives were positive that they continued all across her petite body. Trish looked frail as she lay on the hospital bed, an IV in her arm feeding her body vitamins and water as she slept the sleep of the tortured and abused.

Goren held one of her hands gently in his from where he sat beside the bed. Alex Eames stood less than a foot behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder in silent support. She glanced up when she heard the two detectives enter.

"She just got back from x-ray. We're waiting to find out how severe the injuries are," she told them in response to their unasked question.

"Did they do a rape kit?" Benson asked, watching Goren's reaction carefully. She didn't miss the way he tensed at her words, nor did she miss the way his partner's hand tightened its grip on his shoulder.

"Yes," Alex said simply.

"What'd they find?"

"There were traces of semen."

"Who brought her in?" Stabler asked, trying desperately to control his anger.

"One of the guys who kidnapped her. He said he didn't sign on for murder and rape."

"Bastards."

"Pawns," Goren corrected him. "Nicole is ultimately responsible for everything that happened to Trish. Those two men were just doing her dirty work for her."

"Did she _tell_ them to rape her?" Stabler shot back.

"I wouldn't put it past her," Bobby said quietly, squeezing Trish's hand softly. He became quite still when he felt her faintly squeeze his hand back.

A troupe of nurses rushed in, ushering the four of the detectives away from the bed.

"What's going on?" Alex asked everyone in general.

"She's waking up," a nurse responded.

---

When Deakins told the squad that Trish was awake, everyone was overjoyed. _Finally_ Goren and Eames could get back to work and start catching the bad guys again.

It came as no surprise to any of them, however, when Goren refused to leave her side as she recovered in the hospital. Malnutrition, a few broken bones, few more bruised ones and a concussion have a tendency to keep a person in the hospital for a while.

Benson and Stabler were back to take Trish's statement of what had happened three days after she woke up. It took a lot longer than it should have for Trish to convince Bobby to go get a desperately needed cup of coffee and real food.

"Please, Uncle Bobby," she asked him again, "I don't … I _can't_ tell them what happened if you're here." Her eyes bore that soulless, haunting expression all three detectives had come to know all too well. "Please."

He nodded, "I want you to call me if you need me to come back, all right?"

"Directly," she replied with a slight nod (all the movement her still aching head could handle). As he headed to walk out the door she added, "Uncle Bobby?" He turned wordlessly. She pointed to his neck, "You might want to consider sticking with turtlenecks for the next few days. Or concealer."

Bobby glared at her as he turned and walked back out of the room.

Trish smirked slightly before turning her attention back to the two SVU detectives waiting patiently. "Where do you want me to start?" The light that had been there moments before was gone from her voice.

"How about telling us what happened the night you were taken?" Benson asked, sitting in a chair next to Trish's bed.

She drew as deep a breath her broken ribs would allow as she started, "I was reading; Elli was asleep at the other end of the couch. I heard a noise that sounded like lock picks so I got up to get Uncle Bobby's Glock from his dresser drawer."

"How do you know what lock picks sound like?" Stabler asked, keeping in mind what the defense attorney would be asking her.

Her glare was fierce as she replied, "Side effect of having a gambler for a father. One of his 'buddies' taught me how to pick locks when I was twelve."

"What happened next?"

"Nicole showed up. She put the barrel of a gun to my back and told me not to resist if I didn't want Uncle Bobby getting into a frenzy over spilt blood on the carpet. There were two … _really_ big men that were with her. One of them - the black one - held me still while the other injected some sort of paralyzing agent into my body. He took the gun from the dresser and they carried me out the back stairs into the waiting van." Trish had to stop. Her heartbeat was going a mile-a-minute, and her head was starting to hurt.

"Here, I'll get some water," Stabler said, leaving the room in search of someone to help in his quest.

He returned a few moments later with a cup of ice water in his hands. Trish thanked him before slowing sipping the nice, cool beverage and gathering her courage to continue telling the pair about her trip through hell.

* * *

A/N: So? What do you think? I thought the bit about Bobby's hickey was funny, but I really want to know what you think. Next chapter: Trish finishes giving her statement, and has a little 'chat' with Deakins. Anymore and it would give too much away. 


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Okay, wanna hear a sad story? I had this entire chapter written up and ready to go YESTERDAY! It was complete and perfect and when I went to save it I accidentally hit the wrong button and deleted the entire thing! Here's version 2.0.

* * *

Trish was having trouble breathing. It felt like the walls were closing in around her; the room was too dark. Too musty. She couldn't feel a breeze. Cold. So cold. And all this added up to the fact that she couldn't breath.

And it all had started when the male nurse came in to change her IV bags.

Benson and Stabler were pushed out of the room in the flurry of doctors and nurses that rushed in to see what was wrong with their patient.

Out in the hallway the detectives saw Goren rushing toward them with a cup of coffee in his hand. It appeared he was actually doing what Trish had asked him to do.

"What the hell happened?" he barked at the two.

"The nurse came in to switch her IV bags and she had a panic attack," Benson explained, trying to calm down the irate man.

"Where's the nurse?"

"He's over there. Name's Howard Kinkaid," Stabler pointed the man out.

"Son of a bitch," Bobby muttered under his breath. He stalked over to the 'nurse' and pushed him up against the wall. "Hello, Mickey. Long time no arrest."

The man before him looked visibly shaken at his presence, "He-hello D-detective Goren, sir. What are you doing here?"

"Checking in on my niece, Mickey. Now, what do you suppose your boss will do when he finds out that you have a rap sheet? A nice long one at that for rape, possession, and possession with intent? Hmm? Do you _think_ he'll go easy on you?" The look on Goren's face was one that Mickey had never seen before, and that frightened him all the more.

Little Mickey Pettyjohn didn't like being in the middle of personal vendettas against cops. But, then again, he never could say no to a pretty face … even when she was the one saying no.

"I ain't saying nuthin'," the felon proclaimed.

Stabler stepped forward, "Good, then you can come on down to the station with us and say 'nuthin' until you're indited for kidnapping and rape."

"I didn't rape no one!"

"We'll see about that. They're running the semen found on her body against the database - a database you've been a part of for some time, now, I hear," Stabler said, slapping the cuffs onto Mickey's wrists before his partner and he lead the perp from the hospital premises.

"Go check on your niece," Benson told Goren before they left. "We'll keep him relatively unscathed until you and your partner can get down to SVU."

"Thanks," was all Goren found himself able to say before he spotted Trish's doctor and went to see what was going on.

"The panic attack she had was severe," Dr. Honore Lovette told the detective before her. Sometimes she really hated her job - especially when she had to deal with the victims of such terrible crimes. "We had to administer a sedative to get her to calm down. She's sleeping right now, but you can go in and sit with her if you'd like, Detective Goren."

He nodded, mutely, letting the doctor get back to her other patients as he turned and once again entered the room he was beginning to loath.

The Goren's had had more than their share of hospital visits in their pasts. By the time Bobby had reached the age of ten he'd been admitted more than twenty times. Trish had already been admitted more than he would have liked - hell, _one_ time was more than he would have liked for his niece.

He stopped in the doorway and just watched her drug-induced sleep, and listened to the beeps coming from her heart monitor and the other machines in the room.

She looked frail against the stark white hospital sheets. Nothing like the vibrant girl he had come to love since he had met her.

---

"I don't know what to do, Lexi. I just feel so damn helpless," Bobby told his partner/lover later that day when she called to see how everything was going.

"Of course you feel helpless," she told him. He heard water sloshing around it the background as she added, "She's in pain and there's nothing you can do to make the pain go away."

"At least we caught that other bastard. Benson and Stabler are pressing into him to see if he'll give up Nicole." He switched the topic when he heard another slosh of water come from her end of the phone, "Are you in the bathtub, Lexi?"

"You got a problem with that, Goren?" Alex shot back, only half serious in her implied threat.

"No, not at all." _Just a little disappointed I'm not there_.

"Well, then, I'll stop by tomorrow morning before heading into work," Alex told him. "Try to get some real sleep tonight, okay?"

"I'll try. Night, Lexi."

"Night, Bobby."

He hung up and turned around to find his niece's brown eyes watching him with a slight smile on her face. "Go see Alex, Uncle Bobby." He opened his mouth to protest but she held up her hand and kept speaking, "There are four officers watching the room from the hall, if you're that worried you can send Officer Oz in to watch me from in here. You haven't slept in a real bed in days. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked, "I know we have both of the men in custody, but Nicole's still out there."

"Would she try something while I'm in the hospital surrounded by police officers?"

He thought about that for a minute. Nicole wasn't that stupid, was she?

Trish noticed his hesitation, "That's what I thought. Now go see Alex."

On his way out, Officer Lydia Oz came in to watch over the girl.

---

The night went by with no difficulties. Trish slept as quietly as possible through the rest of the night, thanks to the sedatives Dr. Lovette felt necessary as she recovered physically from her trip through hell.

The next morning, Deakins snuck in a muffin for Trish from her favorite café before he headed off to One Police Plaza.

"Don't think this gets you out of that thirty buck you still owe me, Jimmy," Trish told him, a little of the spark back in her voice, if not her eyes.

"What are you talking about? I thought it was fifteen."

"It was. Then I saw the new hickey Uncle Bobby's sporting. I bet if you matched it to Alex's teeth it would be a match."

Deakins blinked at the girl laying in the hospital bed. Part of him wasn't sure how she could be joking about something so soon after … but another part of him was glad that she was feeling well enough to do even that.

"All right. Will you take a check?"

She shook her head slightly, ever conscious of the concussion that hadn't fully healed yet. "Nope, cash only, Captain. I told you _that_ when we made our little bet. Now pay up."

He chuckled deeply, "I'll give it to you when you get released from the hospital. Deal?"

"Don't try to dodge me, Jimmy," she narrowed her eyes at him mockingly, "I know where you work."

* * *

A/N: I couldn't resist trying to add a bit of humor there at the end. Hope you liked the fluff! 


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: So sorry this has taken so long, but I had two courses that took more time this week (finals week) than I thought they would. On the bright side, I've just started two weeks vacation so I'll have lots more time to write now. ...And my baby brother picked out a banana cream pie for me at the store the other day. I don't like banana cream pie, but it was the thought that counts.

* * *

Alex woke feeling warm and content. When she opened her eyes, however, she found herself alone in the bed with Bobby nowhere in sight. She tensed for a moment, afraid that he had gone to work, or back to the hospital without saying goodbye first. A split second later, she relaxed as she heard the sound of bacon frying in the kitchen. Soon Alex was padding down the hallway in her bare feet to go investigate and see if there was coffee to be had.

"Hey," she greeted groggily as she stepped fully into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee with a yawn. "Sleep well?"

He shrugged, "I guess. It - it's hard knowing that Trish is in the hospital."

Alex nodded, hoisting herself up onto the counter next to the stove to watch as he finished frying the bacon and scrambling the eggs. "I hope scrambled eggs are okay - I remember that you had a rather odd preference for them when you were pregnant," Bobby rambled as he stirred the pan and added a heaping handful of sharp cheddar cheese to the eggs.

She reached out and put her hand on his cheek, forcing him to turn his head to look at her. "You're amazing, you know that? Scrambled eggs are fine." Alex stroked her thumb across his freshly shaven face, "Everything's going to be okay, Bobby."

His eyes filled with gratitude and love as he leaned into her hand, "What'd I ever do to deserve you?"

Alex smiled slightly as she leaned in to kiss him, "You loved me."

---

Trish was released from the hospital four days after her admittance, but she couldn't bring herself to go back to the apartment without someone right beside her.

"I was sitting right there," she told Benson, pointing to the couch with one hand, the other arm firmly clutching her dog to her chest, as if Elli could keep the churning in her stomach and her immobilizing, sickening fear at bay. "Elli was right here, asleep, and I was reading _The Count of Monte Cristo_. I had Italian opera playing softly from the stereo, but I turned it off when I heard a sound from the door."

"The lock picks," Benson clarified.

Trish nodded, her face a blank, pale mask, a little green around the edges. "I got up and moved toward Uncle Bobby's bedroom - where he keeps his Glock. I was just reaching for it when I felt the barrel of a second gun on my back."

"And that's when Nicole took you."

"That's when my trip to hell started." Trish walked back out to the living room, where she looked around before shaking her head. "I should have been safe here." Her stomach was in turmoil, the toast and eggs she had eaten at the hospital that morning were threatening to come back up again.

She raced to the bathroom, making it to the toilet and releasing Elli just in time for the contents of her stomach to come up.

Benson winced at the sound of the young girl being sick, and made her way to the bathroom to see what she could do to help. She ran the cold water and dampened a wash cloth for Trish to clean her face off after the episode passed.

"Do you want to leave?"

Trish just heaved, trying to get her emotions under control. "I thought I was stronger than this," she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

"Hey," Olivia said, "You _are_ strong. You survived a terrible ordeal."

"But is my mind still intact?"

---

"Where's Nicole?" Bobby asked the Nigerian in front of him in the interrogation room. Apparently he was the only one the man would talk to about the case.

"How is she?" he asked, his voice heavy with the accent.

"You tell me where Nicole is and I'll tell you how Trish is doing," Bobby narrowed his gaze at the other man, wondering how he could have gotten messed up with Nicole.

The man shook his head, "You tell me first."

"Look, you get brownie points for doing the right thing and taking her to the hospital, but don't expect that to absolve you of all guilt," Bobby growled out.

"I'm not trying to escape punishment. I just … need to know how she is."

"Why? So you can determine how much damage you did?"

"No. So I can ask her forgiveness."

The door to the interrogation room opened and Trish walked in. Bobby started a little, having not known that she was there in the first place. She didn't step far into the room, preferring to keep close by her escape route. "Tell him where Nicole is," she told the man she had called Douche Bag.

"How are you?" he asked again, quickly writing down the address he had for his boss.

"After being physically and mentally tortured and raped for a month, how do you _think_ I'm doing?" she shot back. "I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to forgive you for your part in it … but I will pray for your soul. Have no fears about that."

Then, as quickly as she had come into the room, she left again. It wasn't long after that Bobby left as well, directing the guards to take the prisoner back to Riker's.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked his niece, his voice low, when he found her in the interrogation room.

Trish met his eyes defiantly, "Benson just dropped me off. Mike said he'd take me to lunch today, so I came to collect him."

Bobby pulled her into a hug, "You don't have to go back to the apartment, Trish."

"I know," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt, "But I had to."

Mike knocked on the door, breaking up the moment between uncle and niece. "I'm at a pretty good stopping point right now, Trish, if you wanted to get a move on."

Trish pulled back, sniffling before she nodded and followed Mike Logan out of the squad room and onto the elevator.

---

"You okay, Bobby?" Alex asked her partner as they did their paperwork.

He looked distant, but nodded anyway.

"What's on your mind?" she prodded again.

"Trish is talking to Mike."

"Good." There was nothing wrong with that. From what Alex had heard from her dad about Mike's history, he was exactly who Trish _should_ be talking to if she wouldn't talk to a psychiatrist.

"She's talking to _Mike_," Bobby looked back at Alex, willing her to understand what he saw as blatantly obvious in that statement.

"Would you prefer to know all the gory details of her kidnapping?" Alex shot back with a glare that quickly softened. "She doesn't want to burden you like that, Bobby. She doesn't want you to know."

"She told you that?"

"She didn't have to tell me. Call it women's intuition, but she doesn't want you to know."

"So she talks to Mike about it?"

"Would you rather she talk to someone who doesn't know what it feels like to be the victim?"

He shook his head, not responding verbally as he went back to staring blankly at the paperwork in front of him as his hand went on autopilot and signed his names to forms he wasn't reading. All he wanted was for Trish to get better … but why'd she have to talk to Mike? Less than two months before they hadn't been on speaking terms at all.

It was just one of those things about teenagers he'd probably never understand.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will be Trish and Mike's talk. Sorry the BA isn't very fluffy in this. I'm having a bit of trouble with that. I'll try to update again within the week, but I can't really promise anything. 


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Better late than never, right? Right? (Looks around nervously) Umm ... guys? What's that chanting?

* * *

Trish didn't know what to say to Mike. It had only been a little over a week since she'd been taken to the hospital, but she wanted to get better _now_, not later.

"Do the nightmares ever go away?" she finally asked as they walked down the street with pizza in hand.

"You want the truth?" Mike asked, as they found a bench and sat down.

She shrugged, "I'm not sure. Can you convince me that it'll get better and I'll be able to sleep through the night someday?"

He shook his head, "I'll tell you when it happens. I've slept through a grand total of five nights without the aid of exhaustion in the past thirty years." His eyes found hers, "It's not going to go away, Trish."

She shook her head, tears entering her eyes that she refused to let fall. "How am I supposed to live like this? I didn't ask for it - any of it."

"No one does." He pulled her into a hug, "But you have to remember something, Trish: You have a lot of people around you that want to help you."

Her teary eyes met his and she whispered her reply, "I can't ask Uncle Bobby to put that on his plate, Mike. He's been through too much, and already has too many nightmares. I _won't_ add to them. And … I can't ask Alex, no matter what she may want. I know they're there, Mike … but none of them _know_."

"Is that why you wanted to talk to me?" Mike whispered back. "Because I know?"

She nodded, sniffling, as she wiped tears from her eyes, unable to voice her thoughts.

"Let's take a walk, Trish," Mike said suddenly. He stood, causing the teen to stand with him, and they both started off in the direction of the closest park.

He didn't say anything as they walked along: there was nothing _to_ say. She had been used by three cold hearted criminals, and left with irreparable scars for the rest of her life. Seared onto Mike's soul were similar scars, left from a childhood full of an abusive mother and the abusive priest he had gone to for comfort. Mike still didn't go into churches when he didn't have to.

They walked in silence for a while, coming to the park Mike had wanted to walk toward. Trish was glad for the silence. It was a different kind of silence than the one shared with her uncle: Mike _knew_, and didn't offer her anything other than empathy and a shoulder to cry on.

Neither found the need to speak a word as the pair meandered through the streets.

When Mike's phone rang, they were on their way back to One Police Plaza. "Logan," he answered.

_Mike, get your ass over here right now._ He heard the irritated voice of his partner on the other end.

"What for?"

_We've got a problem, _Carolyn said tensely._ Put Trish in a cab before coming up. The tip was solid. Nicole's in custody._

Mike let out a ragged breath - at least Trish would be able to sleep a bit easier knowing all three were behind bars. "I'll be there soon." He closed the phone, stuffing it back into his pocket.

"What happened?" Trish asked him, her eyes darting about his face, trying to determine if he was hiding something from her.

"I gotta get back up, Trish. Something happened."

"_What_ happened?"

Mike closed his eyes, not wanting to tell the girl what was going on, but knowing it had to come from him because he was the one who was there, "The address he gave us panned out. We've got Nicole back in the squad, in custody."

Trish's breath hitched as a wave of emotion hit her so hard she staggered back a few steps. Tears came to her eyes: she was unsure whether they were rooted in relief or in terror.

"Hey," Mike caught her as she swayed, "I'm gonna send you home."

She shook her head, "No. I can't go there. I'll get a cab to Alex's place." She shuddered, "Give her hell, Mike. _Give her hell_."

He nodded, hailing a cab: he'd give Nicole hell all right. He'd give just as good as needed given so that Nicole would never bother his friend or his family again. _Never_. _Again_.

---

By the time Mike got back to 1PP there was as much commotion as there had been when the Governor had popped in for a surprise visit six months before. He caught Rodriguez by the arm as the other detective made his way out of the mayhem.

"Wallace just suicided," Rodriguez explained hurriedly.

"How?" Mike prodded further.

"Somehow she snuck in a vial of arsenic. Swallowed it in Interrogation Room Three." The detective made hand motions to indicate to Mike that he really had to pee and wished to be excused. Mike let him go and went to see how Bobby was holding up.

Bobby had been standing in the observation room, watching Nicole sit statuesque in the chair that had held her weight so many times in the past, seemingly uncaring that she was once again in police custody. There were two guards standing on the wall behind her, their hands trained on the Glocks at their sides.

Without warning Nicole's free hand had disappeared under her skirt (the other hand being handcuffed to the table) and reappeared a split second later with a vial of clear liquid in its grasp. She cocked her head and stared through the glass, directly into Bobby's eyes.

"We really are the same, Bobby." Her smile would haunt all who saw it until the day they died, "My blood is on your hands."

Before the guards could react, she had broken the vial and swallowed the poison that lay inside. By the time Bobby had reached the interrogation room, Nicole Wallace, narcissistic sociopath, lay dead.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: I know this chapter is short, and I know that it's been a long time coming ... but that's college for you. I still have two term papers to finish, one other paper, and four finals to do before I can give you guys the next part of this thing.

* * *

The brush slid easily, softly, through her dark curls. They had just been released from the prison of twin French braids, resulting in more bounce than they usually had. She was wearing her hair down today - just as her grandmother had requested. Her make up was simple: light blue eyeliner that gave a nice contrast to the brown of her eyes; no mascara - her lashes were plenty dark without it; an even paler blue eye shadow; smattering of bronzer over her cheeks, accenting the bone; and translucent rose lip gloss. She wore a navy blue 20's style, cotton dress with a flower over one of her hips. Ballet flats - the sole note of black on her person - adorned her feet, and around her neck she wore the necklace Alex had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

To anyone that didn't really know her she would look the picture of a grieving granddaughter, well put together and in complete control. Although somewhat rebellious, even in her state of morning, by the lack of black in her ensemble.

However, to those that knew her, Trishna Goren was in shambles. Her emotions were all over the map since her grandmother's decline in health and eventual death. They had only known each other for a year and a half. It wasn't long enough. Trish had just started getting to know her grandmother when she had been taken from her. It wasn't fair.

Today was her grandmother's funeral. One year, two months, and five days since she had been kidnapped and half her soul ripped from her body.

Trish nodded into the mirror, content that her grandmother would approve of her appearance. Frances Goren had hated how Trish looked in black, and made a point of telling her young granddaughter not to wear a black dress to any of the funeral proceedings. The teen had complied with a sad nod to her dying grandmother. She quietly walked out into the living room, stopping in the doorway as she watched as her uncle was comforted by his petite partner. The seventeen-year-old smiled softly at the sight.

After the death of Nicole Wallace (Good riddance, have a nice time in Hell) and the conviction of the other two men involved in her kidnapping (they'd be _very_ old men by the time they came up for parole) Trish had done what she could to get on with her life.

School had helped - she loaded up on her course work by taking eighteen to twenty credits a semester and two or three classes during the summer and winter. The thought brought tears to her eyes: she would be graduating from the two-year junior college she had enrolled in at the end of the current semester and her grandmother wouldn't be around to see it.

Of course, there were some breaks that she couldn't get away from. It was during those times that Trish spent hours and hours with Mike - or one of the other detectives - learning all the self-defense she could … and kicking a few asses while she was at it.

On weekends she volunteered at a local library, reading books to a small group of deaf children. They liked the way she could mold her face into the funniest grimace and the scariest scowl while reading with her mouth and her hands. The librarians loved that she never complained.

Somehow she found the time to learn fluent Spanish and French during all of this.

She slept as little as possible, preferring to do her studies as much as she could in the night when no one else was clamoring for her time. It was always quietest at four-thirty in the morning. The only time of the day in New York when you could hear yourself think and didn't have to shout to talk on the phone as you walked down Madison Avenue. She loved that time of day.

When she _did_ sleep, however, the nightmares still plagued her mind. No matter how exhausted she was, there was _always_ a nightmare waiting for her when she closed her eyes. Although … they had been somehow more subdued as of late.

She thought it might have something to do with a young man who took a criminal psychology class with her. His name was Ken Randle.

Slowly her mind came back to the present and she cleared her throat to get her uncle's attention. When his eyes drifted over to her, she pointed to the clock.

"We'd better get going if you want to get there early," she said softly.

Bobby nodded once as the couple rose from their seats and the small family left for the funeral home.

The day was like a blur for Trish. She hurt so much, but was so numb to everything happening around her. There were a lot of cops at the funeral - showing support for one of their own and his niece. Inside she was screaming at the lot of them, shouting for all she was worth at their mock sadness and pain. None of them felt anything close to the type of pain Trish and Bobby were feeling at the death of Francis Goren.

Exhaustion crept up through Trish as the casket was lowered into the ground five hours later. Just as Francis wanted: entering the earth from which she came as the sun descended on the horizon, bidding her farewell. Ken was there with his father, Fin Tutuola, giving silent support to the Goren's as they said goodbye one last time to the beloved woman. Ken was the first to notice Trish's sagging stance.

He moved quietly to stand beside her, and a little behind, ready to catch her if she fell.

Trish's body gave out as the first mound of dirt was thrown in atop the casket. Ken caught her easily before the hem of her dress was able to touch the ground. The young man shot a look at Bobby, "How much sleep has she been getting'?"

Bobby shook his head tiredly, "Not nearly enough. I _think_ it's about twenty hours a week."

Alex was the one to shake her head this time, "My count was closer to fifteen."

They all looked at each other in horror before turning to the girl as pale as a ghost lying in Ken's arms - just how sick _was_ she?


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Well, I did it - and look at that: you stayed along for the ride. How nice. I hope you liked it.

* * *

When Ken tried to put Trish down on the hospital bed after arriving to make sure nothing was seriously wrong with her other than exhaustion, she refused to let go. The young man gave a disparaging look to his father as he was forced to hold the petite teen.

Fin chuckled softly at the predicament his son was in. "Bet you never thought you'd have a girl sleep with you, did you?"

Ken's glare was hot enough to melt ice as his father laughed at him. When the doctor came in with Bobby a few moments later, neither was too surprised that the girl had burrowed into the man's arms and refused to budge. She looked like a child curled up like that.

"I think I can do a preliminary without having to move her," Dr. Brightman said as she moved toward the girl to check her vitals and such. When she was done she sighed, "Well, she doesn't appear to be malnourished or anything of that sort, but she is definitely exhausted. The hospital's pretty crowded right now, and I don't think she needs to be admitted, but just watch her while she sleeps this off and bring her back if any other signs start showing up."

Bobby nodded and mumbled a thank you to the physician before the troupe again set out to the SUVs and Alex's home.

---

It was no surprise once they got there that Trish wouldn't even let go of Ken long enough for the young man to take of his coat, forcing him to lay down with her in the guest bedroom as she slept. Maybe he'd try again in a half hour to get up and leave her in peace.

The cops sitting tensely in the living room were all reminded of trying to put a one-year-old clingy child down for a nap. Somehow they knew, even in sleep, when the person they wanted with them was about to leave them alone.

---

Trish opened her eyes to the rising sun and a very interesting state: she was in bed with a man. Frowning, she pulled back and stared in shock at Ken, who lay sleeping beside her. Why was _Ken_ in her room? She looked around at herself, finding the damn dress she had worn to the funeral still on. Closing her eyes tightly she tried to remember the previous night but found her memory faded to darkness at the burial ceremony. She couldn't remember ever going home.

Her eyes snapped open again as she stared at the young, very _gay_ man laying on her bed, still fast asleep - she didn't remember dreaming the night before either. No nightmares.

Shaking her head to clear out the sleep, Trish got up and put on a pair of sweat pants and a fitted tee-shirt before going out to see if her uncle was awake.

"Sleep well?" Bobby muttered with a smirk on his face as he poured his niece a cup of freshly brewed coffee and passed it to her in her favorite cup.

"How long was I out?" Trish asked with a smile of thanks as she drank the bitter brew.

"Fourteen hours, I think," Bobby replied as he followed Trish into the living room to sit down. The pair kept their voices down so as to not wake up the still sleeping Ken and Alex. "You wouldn't let poor Ken put you down."

"He's a good guy," Trish said, shaking her head again, "I never thought I'd find sleeping with a gay man to be comforting."

"I don't think he ever thought he'd end up sleeping with a girl," Bobby replied. "How'd you sleep?" he asked again.

Trish shrugged, "I slept for once. It's odd though, I can't remember dreaming."

"You collapsed from exhaustion, I doubt your mind was up to dreaming."

The pair drank their coffee in silence for a while, listening to the city below them. Trish was the one who finally broke the silence as the sunlight on the carpet made its way over Elli's glistening fur. "Do you ever regret it?"

"Regret what?" the confusion was very clear in Bobby's voice as he glanced at his niece.

"Agreeing to take me on after Dad died," she clarified.

"Never." The response was made without hesitation, the absolute certainty of it clear to Trish.

Her desperate eyes found her uncle's, "Even when you have to leave work early to come take care of me?"

Bobby smiled slightly, "And here I thought you were taking care of me."

Trish shook her head, "That's Alex's job."

He set both of their empty mugs on the table before taking both her hands in his. He held her gaze as he said, "Even if I had known all the crap we would go through before hand, I would _still_ have taken you with me, Trish. You're too much of an important part in my life for me to even imagine what it would have been like without you this past year and a half."

Silence resumed as the pair held a conversation of looks and squeezes of the hand.

"I don't think I know what it's like to just be a teenager, Uncle Bobby." Trish's voice was small as she diverted her eyes, "Without Grandma …"

He pulled her into a tight hug, "I guess we'll find out together, then. Won't we?"

As she nodded they both heard the telltale shuffling of feet that said Alex was awake and moving in the direction of coffee.

Trish's eyes followed the half awake woman as she poured her own cup of the dark brew. "Together. That sounds interesting," she repeated, "All three of us."

A crash was heard from Trish's room and they knew Ken had woken up as well. Seconds later there was a buzz from the intercom, signaling someone wanted admittance into the building. Bobby gave his niece a look, "There may be more than three of us."

Fin

* * *

A/N: So? I know it's short, but now it's over and we can all sing silly songs off-key. 


End file.
